


The P-Team and the Sorcerer's Stone

by ScarletMarieLeaf



Series: The P-Team Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, F/M, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gen, Growing Up Together, Magic, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Orphans, Teasing, Trust, compassion - Freeform, strong bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 68,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22169698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletMarieLeaf/pseuds/ScarletMarieLeaf
Summary: Everyone knows about the boy who lived, the one who defeated Voldemort when he was only a year old. But what if Harry Potter wasn't completely alone on his journey, what if he had a friend who was there for him before he even went to Hogwarts, from the night his parents died until the final battle? And what if that friend was a girl?! Join the P-Team on their journey as they learn what really happened to their parents and the world in which they truly belong.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Flirty Fred Weasley/Original Female Character, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Mr Granger/Mrs Granger (Harry Potter), Original Male Character/Original Female Character, Petunia Evans Dursley/Vernon Dursley
Series: The P-Team Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595818
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. The Vanishing Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lostfeather](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lostfeather).



> Hello my fellow pack members and welcome to an all new story! This is another old story that I've worked on for many years that I'm just recently getting back to and one I'm adamant to see through until the end. For any of you who have read my previous installments, I hope you'll enjoy this new revision a lot more than the old ones. And, for those who haven't and for the other Harry Potter fans out there, I deeply hope you'll all enjoy this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Feel free to comment or critique my work if you feel the need, I'm always up for constructive criticisms ~  
> But, anyway, enough rambling, I shall let you all get on with the story. I hope you enjoy!  
> Signed, your alpha, ScarletMarieLeaf
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the original Harry Potter storyline, plots, characters, or series. They all rightfully belong to J.K.Rowling and the Scholastic Press.

Only a few wisps of cloud obscured the early morning sky as the sun peeked up over the mountains, turning the once black, star-strewn blanket of the night into softer shades of intermingling color; from its’ peak, the sky faded from black to dark, then pale shades of blue as the sun painted the horizon gold, which bled outward with the emergence of the day. Where blue and gold merged appeared a soft, temporary pink color that seemed to be absorbed into the wisps of cloud that hung so low anyone would think they could touch them, a brilliant enough pink they could be mistaken for cotton candy. 

The sun stretched its’ rays outward as the sky transformed, falling over the neat lawns of Wisteria Walk to peek into the window of each dwelling and coax its’ residents from sleep to start their day. Adults pulled themselves reluctantly out of bed, yawning and stretching; some headed straight for the bathroom to relieve themselves and take a shower to help wake up while others made a beeline for the kitchen to brew coffee and get breakfast started before they went to wake up their kids. With infants and toddlers on their hips, mothers would carefully coax their older children awake and herd them to the kitchen, sometimes taking extra time to awaken their teens and pre-teens, who would grumpily pull themselves out of bed, grumbling to themselves as they joined their family at the table. Those folks who were already awake stepped outside to retrieve their morning paper and exchange their empty milk bottles with the fresh ones left on their front step, inhaling the warm, early summer air with a smile and a friendly good morning to a neighbor or passer-by that’s caught their eye. 

The sunlight reaches the final house on the street, which sits just on the corner, a house that was identical to others around it, although its’ front lawn is decorated by some garden gnomes and a couple of rose bushes. One of the gnomes is seated alongside a small, fake pond with a fishing pole in hand, while the second sits on the step, ready to greet guests while it guards the container of milk bottles set next to the door. Under the polished brass forty-four screwed into the brick next to the door, Figg was printed neatly onto the nameplate. 

There’s movement upstairs; the blinds rose in one of the windows of the bedroom that over-looked the front yard, allowing light to spill into the room, onto the matching, ruby red curtains and crimson carpet. Hazel green eyes sweep along the street, watching neighbors go about their usual morning routine as the thin young woman releases the blind cord, which returned to resting against the side of the window; she swept a few strands of her dirty blond bangs out of her face back into the body of her waist length hair, which fell down her back in waves and framed her soft, heart-shaped face. Under her right eye were several small, nickel-sized scars that resembled stars. It was one of the few things the young woman thought even remotely interesting about herself; although she liked her eyes and hair, young Cheyenne Power considered herself extremely plain in appearance. She was thin, sure, but she was often ridiculed in school for resembling a beanpole, and she thought she had a rather weak chin. Well, she’d been born with most of these things, so…there wasn’t really much she could do, although how she acquired her scars still remained something of a mystery to her. 

“Those scars are from the accident that killed your mother and father.” Her Gram had told Cheyenne when she’d asked about them, back when she was only five. At the time, being as young as she had, the little girl had bought the story and didn’t press it further, although a voice had started to prickle at the back of her mind that her grandmother was hiding something as she got older. Of course, she had no basis for these thoughts, so Cheyenne hadn’t been able to call her out on it just yet. How could she, when she could barely remember her parents as is?

Cheyenne had been brought to live here, on Wisteria Walk, with her grandmother, Arabella Figg, when she’d only been a year old. According to her Gram, Cheyenne’s parents had died in an accident so terrible Arabella could barely bring herself to describe it. The few times it had been brought up, the older woman often clammed up and refused to talk further on the subject, another reason why her granddaughter often hesitated when it came to pushing her for further details about her parents’ death. As she got older, Cheyenne grew to somewhat understand Arabella’s pain; she’d lost her only daughter and son-in-law so young, far earlier than seemed fair. Who wouldn’t still suffer from that pain, even years later? 

But, even with her Gram’s reluctance to explain what had exactly happened to Iris and Mark Power, she’d still answered Cheyenne’s questions about the kind of people her parents had been when they were alive. She’d tell her stories about the troubles her mom and dad would get into when they were kids and the things they enjoyed, although there were often details Arabella left out that Cheyenne had only started to notice in recent years. Her Gram had never told her where her mother had grown up or where she’d gone to secondary school, she never knew what subjects were her favorites nor what she was skilled with or where she had difficulties; Arabella had once told her Mark had been an impressive athlete, although when asked what he’d played, the older woman had immediately changed the subject. Was there something Cheyenne was missing…? What could her grandmother possibly be hiding from her about her parents? 

Her gaze drifted from the window, settling on the bedside cabinet next to her, which held a small reading lamp, a gently used alarm clock she’d been given for her last birthday, and a small, silver photo frame. Gingerly picking up the frame, Cheyenne lifted it from the table and smiled silently down at the couple that beamed back at her from behind the protective glass. Her Gram had given her this photo when she’d been a baby, as a way for her to remember her parents; it had been the last photograph the couple had taken with her at their home before their deaths. 

“You guys couldn’t have secretly been evil, could you?” Cheyenne whispered jokingly into the quiet of her room, passing her fingers tenderly over her parents’ still images; they both continued to smile up at her, the image of a perfect family where they were settled in front of their fireplace, their daughter, only just a toddler, seated on the floor between them. The little girl reached for the camera with one chubby hand, her other wrapped firmly around a lock of her father’s long, shoulder length, dirty blond curls. Mark has one eye closed in pain, but there’s still a joyful smile on his lips, his sky-blue eye twinkling happily. Iris is laughing, her smile so wide Cheyenne often wondered how it hadn’t split her mother’s face in two, causing crinkles around the corners of her warm, chocolate brown eyes. “No…I’m sure that wasn’t it…” 

Mrow ~ Something pawed at her sleeve, drawing Cheyenne’s attention away from the picture to the pair of big blue eyes staring up at her from the edge of her twin bed. She smiled softly, reaching out to pet the snow-white cat, who leaned into her touch, purring as she giggled and set the photograph back down. 

“I know, Snowy, I should get downstairs before it gets too warm. That milk isn’t going to last long out there.” She scratched her cat gently behind the ear, “Gram’s probably awake about now, too, huh?”

Snowy purred softly in reply, butting her head against her owner’s palm, pulling another giggle from her; somehow, it always felt as though Snowy and the other three cats her grandmother owned could understand her in one way or another. It was fascinating, especially when they actually responded when Cheyenne or her Gram spoke directly to them. And it wasn’t the only fascinating things about them, either; if something went wrong, they seemed to know to go find help. Just like a few days ago, when Arabella had broken her leg while Cheyenne was at school. Mr. Tibbles had actually left the house to find her and warn her about the situation. Of course, as soon as she’d seen the brown and white tabby waiting for her outside the school gate, Cheyenne had known something was wrong and she’d ridden her bike straight home after a quick apology to her best friend. So, to say the cats were smart would be a definite understatement. 

As though on cue, a rather loud meow came from the door, drawing the pairs’ attention; Cheyenne cocked her head when she noticed Mr. Tibbles there, staring expectantly at her with wide, unblinking amber eyes, his tail lashing uneasily side to side. 

“Uh oh, what’s happened now, Mr. Tibbles?” Cheyenne crossed the room to the door and followed Mr. Tibbles into the hall; he made a beeline for the staircase, bounding down to the first floor, meowing the entire way. Cheyenne followed right behind him, getting the distinct feeling he was talking to her as he reached the landing and leapt the last few stairs into the front hall; she grabbed the banister and swung around the corner at the bottom, jumping the final steps as well and jogging down the hall to the kitchen, where she found the cause of the cat’s distress. 

“Gram…” The young woman sighed as she hurried to her grandmother’s side; you’d think having a full plaster cast on her leg and crutches would keep the old woman from pushing herself too hard, but you would be very much wrong. “Gram, the doctor told you not to strain yourself while you’re injured.” Putting an arm around her grandmother’s shoulders, Cheyenne turned down the heat for the stove and gently took the spatula from her, setting it on the counter next to the pan before gently leading the older woman out of the kitchen. Arabella ‘hmph’ed as she was lowered into a chair at the dining room table, pursing her lips as her granddaughter leaned her crutches against the table next to her. 

“Honestly, what could that old crock know?” 

“Hm, well, with all that schooling he had to do to become a doctor, I would say, probably a lot.” Cheyenne pointed out as she returned to the stove to overlook the eggs and bacon Arabella had been cooking. 

“Don’t you get smart with me young lady,” Arabella sniffed, fighting a smile as she watched Cheyenne flip the bacon before she moved about getting plates, silverware, and cups to set the table. “But I still say this all is uncalled for. Just because I broke my leg doesn’t mean I’m an invalid, for goodness’ sake. I can still cook breakfast in my own home for myself and my granddaughter.”

“I never said you couldn’t.” Cheyenne sighed again as she excused herself to grab the milk bottles from the front porch and set them in the middle of the table, “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still try to lean on me a little, too. I’m old enough to cook meals on my own so you don’t have to all the time. And I know I’m more than old enough to handle all the chores around the house while you rest and heal.”

“That doesn’t mean you should have to.” Arabella poured milk into two cups while Cheyenne set the kettle on the stove to brew them some tea, “You’re still young Chey, you shouldn’t have to worry about taking care of a house yourself until you’re married and living with your husband. Or living on your own, whichever comes first.”

“Yes, well, that’s a long way off. And I know I wouldn’t be caring for the house myself forever, just until your leg’s better. I promised the people at the hospital I would help you and keep you off your leg as much as possible.” 

“Which you have done quite diligently since the night I came home from the hospital. Even though you missed school yesterday.” Arabella gave her granddaughter a stern look and Cheyenne ducked her head, knowing how highly the older woman valued education. She couldn’t help herself…after finding her grandmother in the hall with her leg twisted at such a grotesque angle and then spending the remainder of the afternoon in the emergency waiting room, Cheyenne had been worried about leaving Arabella alone for an extended period of time so soon after her accident. She knew her Gram could be stubborn when she wanted to be and she hadn’t wanted to risk coming home to find her on the floor again, possibly in a worse shape than the one she’d left her in. Arabella was the only family Cheyenne had left in this world and she didn’t want anything happening to her. “As I said before, just because I have a broken leg, it doesn’t mean I’ve become a permanent invalid and I won’t stand to have you fussing over me like I am. A young woman like you should be outside, enjoying her weekend with her friends, not inside looking after her granny. Besides, I’m quite sure Harry’s worried about you since you weren’t in school yesterday. Heaven knows those Dursleys hardly let him do anything without abusing the poor boy, so I’m sure access to their telephone is nonexistent. When was the last time you spoke to him anyway?”

Cheyenne took the whistling kettle off the stove and poured the boiling water into a couple of teacups before seeping in a some packets of English breakfast tea in both as she carried them to the table, “Thursday afternoon, as we were leaving school.” 

“Hm, the longest you two have gone without contact, I would say.” Arabella smiled teasingly as she accepted the cup from Cheyenne, who gave her grandmother a look before she went back to the stove to plate their food. “But, all the more reason why you need to go out and see him. You know I won’t be able to have him here with my leg and we both know the Dursleys would sooner eat dirt than leave him alone at home. You have your bicycles, so you two can go anywhere in Little Whinging together; there are plenty of places, especially if you were to use your allowance.” When she’d turned 8, Arabella had started giving Cheyenne 4.44 pounds as a weekly allowance, increasing the amount a little each year. At eleven, she was now making 5.65 pounds per week, which was usually saved in her piggy bank. “I’m sure you could take him to a movie or a nice museum and he’d enjoy it more than having to spend the day with those people.” 

“Yes but…” Cheyenne chewed her lip as she set the dishes on the table and sat down, “What about you?”

“Oh honey…” It was Arabella’s turn to sigh as she looked gently at her granddaughter, “You really don’t have to worry so much about me, you know. I’ve taken care of myself perfectly well in the past, even long before you were born, and I can still care of myself now, broken leg or not.” She sipped her tea as Cheyenne still looked uncertain, frowning at her over her toast. Arabella shook her head, knowing Cheyenne could be just as stubborn as she was, “All right, I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you a promise. If you go out and have some fun today, I promise I will take it easy. I will go sit in the living room and not move from my chair unless its’ absolutely necessary. And, if something does happen, I will send Mr. Tibbles out to get you straight away. Deal?”

Cheyenne hesitated, considering the deal for a brief moment before she smiled quietly and nodded, holding her hand out across the table; Arabella chuckled, bemused, and took her hand, giving it a firm shake, “Deal.” 

“Good girl.” Arabella turned back to her breakfast, “You just be sure to keep your curfew in mind as well, all right, Cheyenne?”

“I will, Gram.” Cheyenne promised with a smile; Arabella nodded her head firmly and silence descended over the pair as they tucked into their breakfast, the only sound in the room that of their silverware clinking softly against their plates and their teacups being set down in their saucers. When they were finished, Arabella insisted on helping Cheyenne clear the table and shooed her away from the sink before she could start the dishes. 

“It doesn’t take much to wash dishes.” She pointed out before the young woman could protest, shifting her weight onto her uninjured leg as she picked up the sponge and turned on the water, “Besides, it’s the least I can do since you cooked breakfast and you wouldn’t want to be late picking Harry up. You know how the Dursleys are about punctuality.” Arabella nodded to the clock hung up on the fireplace in the living room, which read quarter to nine. “Well, hop along, quickly.”

Cheyenne glanced at the clock, then smiled faintly at her grandmother and nodded, “Okay…okay, I’m going. Let me just put these few things away, toss these teabags, and feed the cats.” She grabbed the jam and full milk bottles from the table to put them away in the refrigerator and tossed the soggy teabags in the bin before grabbing a couple cans of cat food from the cabinet and splitting them up between the four cat bowls. Tossing the empty cans away, she set the bowls on the mat by the door leading into the front hall and dusted her hands off, “All right, I’m going to put my shoes on and grab my wallet. Is there anything I can get you before I go, Gram?”

“Oh, get out of here, Cheyenne. Go on.” Arabella waved a hand dismissively, urging her granddaughter to go. Cheyenne smiled sheepishly and quickly pecked Arabella’s cheek before dashing out of the kitchen, taking the stairs two steps at a time on her way up. Arabella shook her head, bemused, as she returned her full attention to the task in front of her. “That girl, I swear, she needs to stop worrying about other people and just enjoy herself sometimes. She’s too young to be fretting about every little thing.”

Within minutes Cheyenne bounded back into the kitchen, tucking a red leather wallet and her house keys into the front pocket of her jeans, “Okay, I’m off, Gram. You remember our promise?”

“I won’t forget it, Cheyenne. I take it easy and send Mr. Tibbles if an emergency comes up. Now you stop worrying and go have fun, I’ll see you this evening. You and Harry stay out of trouble.”

“We will, Gram.” Cheyenne smiled gratefully, maneuvering around the kitchen island and dining table to get to the back doors, “Be sure you prop your leg up properly and drink plenty of water. I’ll be back before curfew. Love you.” She waved as she slipped out onto the back patio and crossed the law to the shed in the far-right corner of the yard. After hanging her bike chain from her neck, she wheeled her used red bike out onto the path, kicking the shed door closed on her way out and repeating the process with the garden gate. 

“Good morning, Cheyenne.” Mrs. Nelson from next door called as she wheeled her bike onto the driveway, “How’s your grandmother faring since her spill, dear?” 

“Good morning, Mrs. Nelson.” She smiled warmly back at the other woman, who would be just about Cheyenne’s mother’s age today, as Mrs. Nelson stood from pruning her flower beds “And Gram’s doing well, thank you for asking. Still as lively as ever.” 

“I’m sure she is.” Mrs. Nelson laughed softly, her soft blue eyes twinkling playfully as she smiled, “And probably stubborn, too, hm?” Cheyenne nodded, making her laugh again, “Somehow I’m not surprised. You headed off to see Harry?”

“Yeah, haven’t seen him since Gram’s accident.” Cheyenne swung her leg over the bike seat, “Have to let him know I’m alive, don’t I? Gram wanted me to get out and spend time with someone my own age, too.” 

“Well, it is good for you to go out and be with your peers, sweetie. Much better than being stuck inside all day.” Mrs. Nelson nodded her head, “You kids have fun and don’t get into too much mischief, you hear?”

“Of course, Mrs. Nelson.” Cheyenne chuckled, smiling to herself, “You have a good day, all right?”

“You as well, sweetie.” Mrs. Nelson called as the young woman rode off, taking a right onto the next street. 

It was a short bike ride since the road Cheyenne was on let straight on to Privet Drive. Her nose wrinkled disdainfully when she spotted the black minivan parked out in front of number four as she skids to a stop in the driveway; the car belonged to Piers Polkiss’ mother, who usually picked him up from school every day. Piers was best friends to the Dursleys’ only son, Dudley, who was Cheyenne’s best friend, Harry’s, cousin. The two boys looked completely different, sure, but their personalities were both equally nasty.

Dudley took a great deal after his father, Vernon Dursley, in appearance. Due to his parents spoiling him as much as they did, the boy was extremely overweight, with a large pink head that sat right on top of his shoulders, leaving little room for a neck. Although, if Cheyenne was honest with herself, she would say Dudley did have rather nice, thick blond hair and pretty water blue eyes. 

Piers, on the other hand, was a scrawny young man, with a very thin face and pointed features that closely resembled those of a rat, with thin, black brown hair that sat limply on top of his head and dull brown eyes. 

Although she would really rather avoid the boy, Cheyenne had known running into him today would be inevitable. It had become a tradition each year on Dudley’s birthday for his parents to take him and one of his friends out for the day to do wherever they wished, whether it was spending it at an adventure park, hamburger restaurant, or even the movies. Harry, of course, was not welcome to the festivities and was usually left with Cheyenne and her grandmother over on Wisteria Walk. Since last year, though, Arabella had encouraged Cheyenne and Harry to go out and have fun on their own with the promise the Dursleys would be none the wiser. One of the only reasons the Dursleys left Harry with the two was because they thought he didn’t enjoy it and they liked the idea of him being as miserable as could be.

Shaking her head at the thought and reminding herself to keep her tongue to stay on the Dursleys good side, Cheyenne propped her bike up on its’ kickstand and walked up the path to the front door.

“Coming!” Mrs. Dursley called from the depths of the house after Cheyenne had rung the bell; she took a step back, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her jeans as she waited, allowing her gaze to wander over the manicured lawn before the front door swung open. Cheyenne lifted her eyes to meet Mrs. Dursley’s large, pale blue eyes, smiling up at the woman.

Unlike her husband and son, Petunia Dursley was a slim woman with a long neck and pretty blond hair that fell to her shoulders in waves, bringing emphasis to her long face, lantern-shaped jaw and large teeth. Often Cheyenne heard neighbors call her horse-face behind her back. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Dursley.” Cheyenne greeted. Mrs. Dursley eyed her for a moment, taking note of her fitted jeans, red t-shirt, and dirty red and white trainers. Cheyenne straightened her back instead of shrinking under her gaze, squaring her shoulders, “I’m not late to pick up Harry, am I?” 

“No, we were just finishing up breakfast.” Mrs. Dursley said, turning away from her to call back into the house, “Boy, she’s here! Get our shoes on, quickly!” Cheyenne had to press her lips together to keep from saying anything at the disrespectful way in which her best friend had been addressed, struggling to keep the smile on her lips as Mrs. Dursley turned back to her, “He’ll be out in a moment. Just wait here.”

“Of course. I hope you have a good day, Mrs. Dursley. And be sure to tell Dudley I said happy birthday.” Mrs. Dursley nodded silently as she disappeared back into the house, leaving the door partially open behind her. Exhaling slowly, Cheyenne turned away from the door and stepped off the porch to wait on the front walk, humming quietly to herself. 

“Hey Chey,” She turned at the familiar voice and smiled at the skinny young man that stepped out of the house, shutting the door behind him. Harry was a small boy, although that was mostly due to how little the Dursleys actually fed him and the clothes they made him wear, which were always hand-me downs from his cousin, Dudley, who was easily four times Harry’s size. His jet-black hair was always untidy, as though he’d just gotten up out of bed and he had a pair of almond-shaped eyes that were a shade of green she had never seen anywhere else, staring out at the world from behind a pair of round-rimmed glasses. Unfortunately, thanks to Dudley’s preference for picking on and beating him up, Harry’s glasses were always broken and had to be held together with a lot of Scotch tape. Harry also had a scar he’d gotten when he’d been a child, although his was very thin and shaped like a bolt of lightning where it’d been etched into the skin of his forehead. 

“Morning, Harry. Ready to go?” Harry nodded and Cheyenne led the way back to her bike, kicking the stand up to turn it around and swing her leg over the seat again. Harry rested his feet on the back spoke that held the wheel in place, resting his hands lightly on Cheyenne’s shoulders as she rode back up the street. “Everything okay at home?”

“Hm?” Cheyenne looked over her shoulder as she turned onto Wisteria Walk, “Oh yeah, everything’s okay. Gram took a nasty spill down the stairs on Thursday. Broke her right leg, so the doctor told her to take it easy.”

Harry nodded, letting out a breath of relief, glad to know Mrs. Figg was okay. He’d been worried something really bad had happened to Cheyenne’s grandmother, knowing, just as well as she did, that Arabella was the only family she had left. He hated the thought of Arabella dying and Cheyenne having to be sent away to an orphanage. It was bad enough neither of them had any parents without having to worry about being separated, after being there for one another since they’d started primary school. Life was definitely easier for Cheyenne, who at least had a relative that seemed to care about her, but she still tried to be there for Harry as much as she possibly could, especially knowing how he was treated by the Dursleys. 

“That why you skived off lessons yesterday?” Harry climbed off the bike as Cheyenne pulled to a stop in her grandmother’s driveway and walked it up to the garden gate. “Yeah, I wanted to be sure she wouldn’t overdo herself; you know how stubborn she can be. But she insisted I get out today so you and I can have some fun. Go grab your bike and we’ll figure out what we’re going to do.”

Since the Dursleys often neglected Harry and treated him as little more than a waste of space, Cheyenne and Arabella had taken it upon themselves to teach him how to ride a bike. Unfortunately, though, since Arabella didn’t make a lot of money, they’d had to share Cheyenne’s first bike until last year, when Arabella had given Harry her old one, which had been collecting dust in the shed, for his 10th birthday. Of course, Harry couldn’t bring his bike around the Dursley house since it was likely his aunt and uncle would try to confiscate it from him, so it’d become normal for him to store it in Arabella and Cheyenne’s shed with Cheyenne’s bike when he wasn’t using it. It was one reason why Arabella had started encouraging the pair to go out whenever the weather was nice. 

“Got any ideas about you wanted to do today?” Cheyenne asked as Harry wheeled his bike up beside her. Harry shrugged, balancing his and the bike’s weight on his right foot. 

“Hm, I dunno…what about you, you got any ideas?” He looked at her and she scowled at him, shaking her head. “Nuh uh, I chose last time, it’s your turn. C’mon Harry, there has to be some place you really want to go.”

Harry frowned and sighed, folding his arms over the handles of his bike and leaning his chin on his forearms, “The zoo Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia talked about taking Dudley and Piers to sounds fun…never been to a zoo before.”

“Is that where you’d like to go?” Cheyenne smiled encouragingly, “Because if it is, we should go. I haven’t been to a zoo yet either.” Harry started to smile before something came to him, making him hesitate, which in turn made Cheyenne quirk a brow, “What’s wrong?”

“Isn’t it a bad idea to go to the same zoo, though…? The Dursleys won’t be happy if they see us.” 

“Those berks can go choke on stale biscuits for all I care.” Cheyenne huffed, “They don’t own the zoo and this is a free country, so we can do what we wish. If you want to go to the zoo, then you can.” When Harry continued to hesitate, Cheyenne’s expression softened and she put a hand on his arm, “Look, Harry, you know I’d never force you to do something you don’t want to, but don’t let those bullies make you afraid. If there’s something you want to do, go for it, I’ve got your back no matter what. If you really want to go to the zoo, then let’s go. If not, then we can find something else to do, we’ve still got the movies, not to mention those nice shops over by the train station we could check out together.”

Harry looked at Cheyenne then and smiled slowly, nodding in thanks before he took a deep breath, seeming to come to a decision, “Let’s go to the zoo.”

Cheyenne smiled and nodded, squeezing Harry’s hand tight before the two rode their bikes out of the drive and up Wisteria Walk; the local zoo was about two miles away and, with a few shortcuts through town, the pair arrived in under ten minutes. 

Since it was a clear, sunny Saturday, the zoo was crowded with families by the time Cheyenne and Harry pulled up; after locking their bikes to a rack near the ticket booth, Cheyenne bought the two of them each an ice cream cone from the nice woman working the truck by the entrance before they went in. 

With a map of the zoo in hand, Harry and Cheyenne went from one exhibit to the other, taking turns picking where they would go as they ate their ice cream and enjoyed themselves, although they were careful to keep an eye out for any of the Dursleys or Piers as they did. They were both enjoying their day out of the house and didn’t want to risk either their bullies or Harry’s aunt and uncle ruining it if they were spotted. Neither had any doubt that Dudley would either decide to come and pick on the two of them himself or complain to his parents that they were ruining his birthday by being at the exact same zoo as they were. Because god forbid someone else actually enjoyed themselves when Dudley was upset or inconvenienced. They had a few close calls when they would be leaving an exhibit the Dursleys were entering but thanks to their speed, Harry and Cheyenne were able to duck out of sight and slip away before any of them could notice. One instance included when they were eating at the zoo restaurant; not long after they were seated, the Dursleys came in for lunch themselves and went past on their way to their table. Harry and Cheyenne had quickly hidden behind their menus, only looking up when they knew it was safe, exhaling sighs of relief when they saw the four had been put at a table across the restaurant. What was even better was that they could see Piers and the Dursleys from where they were sitting while they themselves could not so easily be seen, which made for an interesting show for both of them.

“Bet you a cookie Dudley throws a tantrum before lunch is over.” Cheyenne whispered as they watched the waitress bring the four their food; Harry smirked at her across the table, taking a slow sip of soda.

“Make it double if he throws a tantrum over his dessert.” He finally said when he set his cup down, pulling a laugh from Cheyenne’s lips as she offered her hand. He took it and gave a firm shake before they returned to their prospective meals. Sure enough, as the Dursleys were tucking into their dessert, Dudley started screaming and crying (loud enough to make the whole restaurant go completely silent, mind you) about the fact that his knickerbocker glory didn’t have enough ice cream on top. Cheyenne groaned and pushed both her cookies across the table to Harry as Uncle Vernon gave the unfinished dessert to Piers and bought Dudley an all new one. 

Unfortunately for the two friends, however, their fun was not to last. 

When they finished lunch, Harry and Cheyenne headed for the reptile house; it was a decently sized building with low lighting and set to a comfortable enough temperature for both patrons and the captive animals, which were housed in medium sized enclosures that could be viewed through lit windows along the walls. Each closure was decorated to accommodate its’ occupants, some filled with water, others dirt, along with bits of stone, plants, broken branches, and small logs that the lizards and snakes seemed to enjoy. Full and content after a good meal and what they’d already visited, Harry and Cheyenne were more than happy to stroll leisurely from one tank to another, watching the animals scurry about within and reading the plaques that had been put up. Unfortunately, however, they wouldn’t get to enjoy the quiet for long; just as they had, the Dursleys had decided to make their next stop the reptile house as well. Although the place wasn’t very big, the one thing that seemed to save the pair from being spotted right away was Dudley and Piers’ fascination with finding the biggest and deadliest reptiles that the zoo housed. Of course, it didn’t take either of them long to find the largest snake on display, whose tank was right beside the one Harry and Cheyenne were viewing when it was spotted. 

Neither of them even dared to move from their spot as they listened to Dudley barking orders at his father to make the snake move for his amusement and the sound of Mr. Dursley’s knuckles rapping smartly on the glass. Dudley moaned about how boring the snake was and his feet shuffled away from the tank, followed shortly by Piers’ and his parents’ footsteps. Cheyenne exhaled slowly and glanced over her shoulder, frowning quietly.

“That was too close…maybe it’s time we left, Harry.” She whispered to her best friend as she watched the four pause at the tank of rattlesnakes on the other side of the room, gently grabbing his arm.

“Yeah…” Harry murmured his agreement, glancing at the tank that held the large reptile, furrowing his brows, “I feel bad for the guy, though…I wouldn’t be surprised if he died of boredom being locked up in there all day long with no company aside from those people who come in everyday to bug him, drumming their fingers on the glass…”

Cheyenne looked around Harry at the enclosure, too, frowning quietly to herself, knowing he must feel some kind of kinship with the animal since he was in no better a situation. After all, the poor boy had had to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs for most of his life, with the only visitor consisting of his nasty Aunt Petunia every morning when it was time to get up. However, before she could even open her mouth to say anything, something extraordinary happened.

As though it’d heard what Harry had said, the snake suddenly opened its’ beady black eyes and very slowly raised its’ head from the log until it was eye-level with Harry. And then, _it winked!_

Harry and Cheyenne immediately froze, their eyes stretching wide in astonishment; once they got over their shock, the pair looked at one another, then did a survey of the room to see if anyone else was watching. When they were certain no one was looking their way, they turned back to the snake and winked back.

The snake’s tongue flickered out as it jerked its’ head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then seemed to roll its’ eyes toward the ceiling, as though it was saying ‘I get that all the time’. 

“I know…” Harry murmured quietly through the glass as Cheyenne shifted her gaze to the plaque hung up next to the enclosure, pushing her reading glasses up her nose and half listening as Harry continued to speak to the snake. This guy here was a Boa Constrictor, whose original habitat was Brazil, although this specimen had been bred right here in the zoo. 

“Ah, so you’ve never been to Brazil, huh?” Cheyenne looked at the boa again empathically. 

The snake started to shake its’ head when a deafening shout behind Harry and Cheyenne made the three of them jump, “DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! YOU HAVE TO COME AND SEE THIS SNAKE; YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT IT’S DOING!”

Piers and Dudley were suddenly behind the pair and Cheyenne felt a hard shove; caught off guard, she stumbled and winced as her ankle was wrenched underneath her, sending her crashing, hard, onto the concrete floor. Clenching her teeth against the tears that threatened to fill her eyes, she gripped her injured ankle, knowing it was probably going to sprain. Harry pushed himself into a sitting position where Dudley had shoved him to the floor as well, searching for his best friend; his eyes hardened when he saw her on the floor across from him, cradling her ankle in her hands while her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Harry’s gaze immediately snapped to the two other boys, who had their noses pressed eagerly against the glass of the enclosure again and he glared at them, gritting his teeth angrily, only for that to fade as Dudley and Piers suddenly leapt away from the glass with howls of horror. 

Cheyenne looked up at the sound, a few small tears escaping from the corners of her eyes as they widened in astonishment while her mouth fell open; the glass that had acted as the front to the boa constrictor’s tank had vanished completely. The large, brown and white snake was now quickly uncoiling itself to slide out of the tank onto the floor, which set off a wave of panic among the crowd as people started to scream and run for the exits.

As the snake slid past Harry, he could swear he heard a low, hissing voice speaking, “Brazil here I come…Thanksss, amigo. To you and your mate.” The snake turned its’ head to look pointedly back at Cheyenne before it slithered away toward the exit. Cheyenne blinked after the snake before meeting Harry’s eye as color flushed his cheeks; he quickly looked away, rubbing his neck, as Cheyenne cocked her head, then winced as she put pressure on her injured ankle. It was then that Harry suddenly seemed to remember their present company.

“Time to go, Chey.” He was on his feet in an instant, hurriedly pulling his best friend up as the keeper of the reptile house called for the zoo director and Mr. Dursley was trying to calm his wife down. Harry and Cheyenne quickly made their escape while Dudley and Piers stood, frozen, in front of the boa’s empty tank, gibbering away brainlessly. Neither Harry nor Cheyenne could fathom what could have rattled them so much, since the boa had done nothing more than snap playfully at their heels as it passed, although the two knew the boys would probably claim the snake had tried to eat them both alive by the time they got back home. 

“Still funny to see them so rattled, wasn’t it?” Harry laughed as he helped Cheyenne through the exit and unlocked their bikes. Cheyenne smiled in bemusement and nodded, gratefully taking her bike and chain from her best friend. “That made possibly getting caught well worth it.”

“I hope so…” Cheyenne sighed as they wheeled their bikes away from the zoo, wincing every time she put weight on her ankle. She was going to have to check it when she got home and see about putting some ice on it if it was swollen. “You know your aunt and uncle are going to be real shirty with you when you get home tonight…I hope they don’t punish you too badly.” 

“They shouldn’t, so long as they just know we were there. Can you imagine my punishment if they knew we were talking to that snake?”

“You’d be stuck in your cupboard until Christmas.” Cheyenne frowned at the thought, knowing how over the top the Dursleys went whenever anything odd happened around Harry. She couldn’t remember how many stories he’d told her about the times he’d been punished because something had happened that he couldn’t control, although there were three that she could name off the top of her head.

The first was the time when Mrs. Dursley, tired of Harry coming home from the barbers looking as though he’d never set foot in a shop in his life, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and nearly cut all his hair off save for his bangs, which she saved to hide his scar. When Harry had been allowed out of his cupboard again, he’d told Cheyenne about how Dudley had laughed himself silly at his haircut and how he, himself, had spent the entire night imagining how school would go the following day, where he was already picked on for his baggy clothes and taped glasses. What had earned him his punishment, however, had been the fact that his hair had somehow managed to return to exactly how it’d been before his aunt had sheared it all off. 

Another time, Harry had somehow got up on the roof of the school kitchens and gotten into trouble then, too; Cheyenne had remembered that day, how she couldn’t find a trace of her best friend at lunch, only to hear he’d been found by the janitor up on the chimney and had been sent home with a very angry letter from their headmistress. How he’d gotten up there had been a complete mystery to Harry, as he’d just been trying to escape Dudley and his gang by jumping behind the large trash cans outside the kitchen doors. He’d voiced the possibility that maybe a strong wind had caught him mid-jump, but Cheyenne highly doubted that had been the cause. 

The only time Cheyenne could ever really remember Harry not getting into trouble with the Dursleys over things like that was when he’d told her about the time his Aunt Petunia had tried forcing himself into an old sweater of Dudley’s. It’d been a knitted brown thing decorated with orange puff balls that no one in their right mind would wear unless dared or drunk. Fortunately for Harry, though, the harder she tried to get it on him, the smaller the sweater seemed to become, until it looked to be the right size for a hand puppet. Thankfully the woman had decided the sweater must have shrunk in the wash and Harry had gotten away scot-free. 

And tonight, if the Dursleys knew the two of them had been talking to that snake…well, she already knew how Harry’s punishment would go. As for herself, she’d be lucky if she’d be allowed on Privet Drive ever again. 

The walk home took longer than the ride to the zoo, since Cheyenne was in no condition to ride her bike back and she was limping the entire way; a few times they had to stop to take a break when the pain was too much to continue on. The sun was low in the sky by the time they reached her grandmother’s house and Harry ushered Cheyenne inside as soon as their bikes were stored safely in the shed. 

“Hey kids, what did the two of you do today?” Arabella looked up from the living room as Harry sat Cheyenne down in a chair at the kitchen table and took a seat across from her, carefully taking her injured leg in his hands. Cheyenne hissed as he pulled her trainer and sock off before carefully pushing the leg of her jeans up, earning a whispered apology in return. Her ankle was, indeed, swollen, and had turned an angry red color, “Something happen?”

“Just had a fun day at the zoo.” Cheyenne panted as Harry stood up, carefully placing her leg on his chair while he went to get her ice, “Until Dudley and Piers shoved us over, made me sprain my ankle.” 

“You two went to the zoo they were at?” Arabella shook her head with a sigh, “Oh, those boys…always shoving others around. You two didn’t walk all the way here from the zoo, did you?”

“Couldn’t really ride my bike like this…” Cheyenne smiled gratefully at Harry as he lifted her leg again to sit down, wrapping the compress carefully around her ankle. Arabella shook her head, sighing at the two, “I hope you’re both aware of the amount of trouble you’re in with the Dursleys now. They aren’t ones to forgive and forget.”

“Yeah, well, I still say what that snake did today more than makes up for it.” Harry grinned at Cheyenne, who smiled faintly in agreement. Arabella quirked a brow at them, “Do I even want to know?”

Cheyenne shook her head, chuckling quietly, “You wouldn’t believe us if we did tell you, Gram.”

Arabella turned off the television and turned her chair to face the pre-teens, “Try me.” 


	2. The Letter

After the incident at the zoo with the Brazilian boa constrictor, Cheyenne and Harry wouldn’t be able to see each other outside of school again until the summer holidays had started. From what Harry had been able to gather upon arriving home that night, Piers had been the one to rat the two of them out to the Dursleys, which had been the reason for Harry’s long punishment in the first place. The one thing that came out of this? Piers hadn’t seen Cheyenne talking to the snake, too, although the Dursleys still knew she’d been at the zoo, which meant they were even less friendly toward her the next time she came around their house. It was probably a good thing that she never really went inside in the first place…

Cheyenne kept herself busy while her best friend served his time; since she was already on top of her schoolwork, the only things she really had to concentrate on were her chores and making sure her grandmother rested. Thankfully the sprain she’d gotten at the zoo healed with a couple of days of icing it and taking things easy, so she was able to get back on her feet quickly so she could help Arabella around the house just as she promised. Of course, Arabella still tried to encourage Cheyenne to get out of the house when there wasn’t anything else to be done at home. Any time not spent at school or on Wisteria Walk she spent at the local library or reading on the swings at the park. 

Although she did enjoy reading, things did get rather lonely after a while; Harry was the only friend Cheyenne had in school, so whenever he was being punished she had no one else she could spend time with. She often got picked on by Dudley and his gang because she was friends with Harry, but Cheyenne knew he had no one else and she was not going to let them cow her into submission like they had the rest of the students.

Dudley’s gang was made up of him and several other young man, including Piers, and three large, dumb thugs, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon. Seeing as how he was the biggest and dumbest of the lot, however, Dudley was the leader. The five of them ruled their primary school and no one wanted to argue with any of those bullies, meaning Harry, who was their favorite punching bag, was the odd man out. Which, subsequently, also made Cheyenne the odd man out because she was the only one who didn’t let them scare her into turning a blind eye to their bullying ways. She wasn’t going to leave Harry to suffer alone like the rest of their classmates had, especially since he had to live with one of his bullies and those two prats, he had the misfortune to call his aunt and uncle. 

Well, there was an upside and a downside to be had to Harry being allowed out at the beginning of their summer holidays; the downside was that without lessons and homework to keep them occupied, Dudley and his gang had nothing better to do than hang around Privet Drive and partake in Dudley’s favorite sport: Harry Hunting. The upside: the pair had a place to hide to avoid the gang when they were out and about. And, since the Dursleys didn’t care either way whether he was home nor not during the holiday, Harry spent most of his nights over Arabella and Cheyenne’s house. He still tried to return to Number 4 at least once a week, but only after he was sure the gang had cleared out for the day. 

When Cheyenne and Harry could get out of the house safely, they would take their bikes to the theater to see the newest blockbuster movies or go check out the shops in town; their favorite was a quaint little teashop next to the train station, where they liked to sit at a table in the bay window and grip about their lives. Cheyenne usually did the least amount of talking and allowed Harry to let off steam about the Dursleys while they shared a pot of tea and some cookies. Most of their talks this time revolved around the bit of good luck coming their way this coming September, when they would be starting their first year of secondary school; while Harry and Cheyenne would be attending Stonewall High, the local public school, Dudley had been accepted into his father’s old private school, Smelting, which he would be attending with Piers. Of course, when he’d heard the pair would be attending the public school, Dudley had found it very funny.

“They stuff people’s heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall,” Dudley told Harry and Cheyenne out on the front lawn when she’d come to pick Harry up, smirking at the two, “Want to come back inside and practice?”

“No, thanks.” Harry climbed onto the bike behind Cheyenne, who walked it forward, “Our poor toilets never had anything as foul as your head down it before, it might just get sick.” Cheyenne suppressed a laugh as she rode back up Privet Drive before Dudley could figure out what Harry had said. 

Shortly after, in late July, Mrs. Dursley took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform; without their leader around, none of the other boys showed up around Privet Drive that day, allowing Harry and Cheyenne free reign around Little Whinging until that evening. Unfortunately, Harry was expected to be home that night to admire his cousin’s uniform, so, after putting his bike away, Cheyenne took him home, knowing full well Harry would describe the uniform to her the following day after she’d picked him up. And speaking of uniforms…

“Hey Gram.” Cheyenne looked up from her breakfast the next morning while her grandmother hummed around her mouthful of waffle, “When’re we going to go get my school uniform?”

“School uniform?” Arabella eyed Cheyenne from across the table, “School doesn’t start for over a month, why are you worrying about uniforms now?”

Cheyenne shrugged, “The Dursleys got Dudley his uniform already, I was just wondering when we’ll get mine.” 

“Don’t you be worrying about that right now; we’ll get your uniform soon enough.” Arabella sipped her tea and got to her feet as there was a click from the hall, followed shortly by the sound of letters flopping onto the doormat. “Now, why don’t you get the mail while I clear the table.”

“Yes, Gram.” Cheyenne wiped her mouth and pushed away from the table as Arabella started to gather their dishes; there were just a couple pieces of mail waiting for her on the doormat and she stooped to collect them when she reached the front door. One was in an official looking brown envelope, more than likely a bill; the second envelope was thicker, made of heavy, yellowish parchment with their address written on it in emerald-green ink and no stamp. Cheyenne gave the mail a quick glance as she stood, but then paused when she saw her own name and froze as she took an extra second to read the addressee: 

_Miss C. Power_   
_The Second Bedroom_   
_44 Wisteria Walk_   
_Little Whinging_   
_Surrey_

Furrowing her eyebrows, Cheyenne turned the envelope over in her hand, wondering why they would put which bedroom she had in the address as she examined the purple wax seal holding the envelope closed. The coat of arms was comprised of a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter _H_. 

“Gram…?” Cheyenne walked slowly back into the kitchen, still clutching the letter in her hand as she looked up at her grandmother, who peered over her shoulder, “Gram, I got this weird letter…it even has my room written in the address. Do you know where it could have come from?”

Arabella turned off the faucet and dried her hands as she turned to face Cheyenne and glanced down at the mail she was holding; her eyes widened when they fell on the envelope made of parchment.

“Oh, I knew it was only a matter of time.” She breathed, setting her dishtowel aside while Cheyenne blinked, confused. Arabella gently took her arm and led her granddaughter into the living room, where she had her sit on the couch while she lowered herself into her chair, “Go on and read it, sweetie, then I’ll explain everything properly.”

Still feeling profoundly confused, Cheyenne broke the seal and pulled several pieces of parchment out. One looked to be a list detailing school uniforms, the second a list of school supplies, and the third a letter, which she unfolded to read: 

_**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry** _   
_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Miss Power,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. 

Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st. 

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

Questions flooded Cheyenne’s mind and she had to read the letter a couple more times before she could properly wrap her mind around what it meant. This school, she’d never even heard of it before and now she was being accepted on as a pupil? A school of… _witchcraft and wizardry?!_ Was there even such a place or was this some kind of joke? 

“What…. what is…? Hogwarts – witchcraft – wizardry – owl…what is going on, Gram?!” Cheyenne turned back to her grandmother, demanding answers. Arabella, who was watching her silently, offered a faint smile.

“Sweetheart, there’s something you need to know.” She shifted to get herself comfortable, sitting forward as best she can with her cast. Cheyenne rested the mail in her lap, giving Arabella her full attention, “I’m sorry I’ve kept who you really are a secret, Cheyenne, but I had to, I had to protect you after what happened to your parents until you were old enough to really understand.” Cheyenne furrowed her brows, but didn’t interrupt as Arabella took a deep breath, “Cheyenne, you remember those strange things that happened when you were upset or angry, the things you thought were just an accident? Like,” She paused to think when Cheyenne cocked her head quizzically, “That day when the Dursleys’ son ran me over with his bike when we were crossing Privet Drive and he ended up flipping himself over. At the time, I let you believe he’d just hit the curb the wrong way or hit something in the road, but that wasn’t it. It was you.” 

“Me?” Cheyenne whispered, her eyes wide, wondering how that could be. As soon as her grandmother was on the ground, she’d run straight to her and hurried her out of the street while throwing glares over her shoulder after Dudley and his gang as they rode away. By the time Dudley had flipped his bike, they’d been all the way at the end of Privet Drive; he’d scraped himself up pretty badly from what Cheyenne had seen when he’d come waddling back up the street, his jeans torn and palms bloody as he hurried home to cry to his mother. No way Cheyenne could have possibly done that when she wasn’t even within reaching distance. Not unless…

“Gram, are you…” Cheyenne paused, unable to believe it, let alone say the word as she stared at Arabella, who nodded slowly, her smile softening. “You’re a witch, Cheyenne.” 

Silence descended over the pair, Arabella’s words hanging in the air as the young woman processed this. Cheyenne finally swallowed and licked her lips.

“A-and…my parents?” She whispered.

“Mark and Iris were both very talented sorcerers in their own rights.” Arabella told her softly, “Your mother got her own letter when she was your age and went to Hogwarts to learn magic, where she met your father. Having such strong magic in your blood meant you would one day attend Hogwarts as well.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tears welled in Cheyenne’s eyes as she stared pleading at her grandmother, wanting to know why she would keep a part of who she was a secret, “You said it had something to do with my parents…what happened to them?”

Arabella took a deep breath and leaned warily back into her chair, gathering her thoughts for what seemed like an eternity before she finally spoke, “Just…keep in mind, there are still some parts to the story that are a mystery, so I can’t tell you everything. But, let me start from the beginning…you see, twenty years ago this year, there was a strong, dark wizard by the name of Voldemort.” Arabella paused then, some of the color fading from her face, as though she’d just said a disgusting swear word, “He started gaining power and gathering followers…but everyone had their own reasons for following him. Some wanted the power he had, others were too afraid to turn him down…it caused a lot of tension and upset among the wizarding world, made it hard to trust anyone we didn’t know, especially as he started to take things over and…killing people that stood in his way. There were safe places people could go, including Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore is one of the few wizards Voldemort ever feared, one he wouldn’t dare take on, even if his life depended on it.”

Cheyenne brought her legs up and hugged them to her chest as Arabella continued, “Of course, there were still witches and wizards who went against the dark lord, including your, and even Harry’s, parents. They were some of the best witches and wizards of their time, smart, charismatic, kind. They were each prefects in their respective houses, not to mention the fact that Lily and James were head boy and girl during their final year.” Arabella smiled faintly, thinking about the four, “I wouldn’t have been surprised if Voldemort did try to get them to join his side…but they were all too noble, loyal to Dumbledore to betray him.”

Arabella sighed heavily, the smile slipping from her lips, “I’ve told you before that you and Harry have known each other longer than you think you have and that’s true. You two have known one another even before you came to live here in Little Whinging, and you can thank both of your parents for that.”

“Our parents knew each other?” Cheyenne leaned her chin on her knees as Arabella nodded, “They did, childhood best friends they all were. Made sure as soon as Harry was born that the two of you would know one another, too.” Cheyenne nodded slowly, “And they were very loyal to one another, too…they looked out for one another like family.” Arabella took a deep breath, “Even in dire straits…there was a prophecy that involved the Potters that forced them into hiding. Mark, Iris, and the rest of their friends were loyal to the degree that they did everything in their power to help protect them. Even –“Arabella’s throat constricted and she lowered her head as tears gathered in her eyes; Cheyenne unfolded herself from the couch and moved to sit on the arm of her grandmother’s chair, putting an arm around her quietly. It took a few minutes before Arabella could gather herself enough to speak, “Somehow Voldemort found out where the Potters were hiding and went to find them; it was ten years ago, on Halloween night. Your parents lived in the same village the Potters did, as a first line of defense should Voldemort find out where they were. Your parents tried to give them time to escape with you and Harry, but he…he killed them…and then James and Lily.” Cheyenne offered Arabella a tissue and rubbed her back as she blew her nose. 

“I think the real mystery of that night, though, is why he couldn’t kill you or Harry.” Arabella sniffled, looking at Cheyenne now; the young woman frowned and opened her mouth to speak with her grandmother carefully touched the scars under her right eye, “The spell was aimed at Harry, destroyed Voldemort…and some of it rebound back at you, left these scars.” Arabella brushed the scars gently with her thumb, “I did lie about the car accident that took your parents, but it’s true you got it the night they died. It’s thanks to these scars and the scar Harry bares that the two of you are considered famous in the wizarding world. No one, not even the best witches and wizards of their time ever survived a killing curse as powerful as the one Voldemort tried to cast on the two of you that night. And you were both still just babies…”

Cheyenne stared into her grandmother’s eyes silently, frowning as her story came to a close. A blinding pain suddenly gripped her, constricting her temples as her vision blurred; she clenched her eyes and blinding green light lit up the inside of her lids as her ears rang with the echo of a memory. A woman’s begging voice and dying scream, then a coldly cruel, high-pitched laugh.

Tears filled Cheyenne’s eyes as they fluttered open, hot against her skin as they escaped down her cheeks while she sought Arabella’s familiar gaze, seeking comfort. The older woman gently pulled her into her arms and Cheyenne immediately latched onto her, burying her face in her shoulder as her frame quaked with sobs. Arabella just held her, rubbing her back softly as she leaned her head gently against the top of Cheyenne’s head. 

It would be a few minutes before Cheyenne calmed enough to speak; Arabella offered her a tissue this time as she pulled away, sniffling softly. As she took the tissue, questions continued to circulate through her mind. 

“Gram…can I ask you something?” Arabella nodded, giving Cheyenne an encouraging smile to continue as she blew her nose, “Are…are you a part of the magical world, too? My mother must have gotten her magical ability from someone…you couldn’t know as much as you do otherwise, unless…you’re actively involved with it.” 

Arabella’s hummed quietly as she rubbed her granddaughter’s arm, gathering her thoughts before she spoke, “Well, you are right, your mother did have to get her magical abilities from someone and seeing as your grandfather was a Muggle, naturally it would come from me. You see, sweetie, in our world, we have a lot of witches and wizards from different backgrounds. We have pure-blood wizards, half-bloods, and Muggle-borns. Pure-blood wizards are witches and wizards from old wizarding families that have been around for a long time; half-bloods are children born of a witch or wizard and a Muggle and Muggle-borns are born into non-magical families. I was born into a pure-blood family, but I never presented any magical abilities that marked me as a witch; in the wizarding world, I’m what’s called a Squib…Squibs are not looked upon favorably, mind you, but I still carried a magical trait. I never attended Hogwarts, but I know witches and wizards in the magical world, like your headmaster, even before your mother presented as a witch herself. I’ve been an ally of Dumbledore’s since Voldemort started gaining power.”

“Are you…still helping Dumbledore?” Cheyenne cocked her head quietly. Arabella hesitated, as though unsure if she should say before she nodded, “I am. Since Voldemort set his sight on the Potters, I was assigned here to watch over the Dursleys…and then Harry when he was brought to live with them. There hasn’t been a threat against him since you were both babies, but Dumbledore wanted someone nearby to watch over him still, someone from our world, just in case. If Voldemort were to return, Harry would still be his target. There isn’t much I can do, especially as I’m getting older.” She put a hand on her cast, making Cheyenne frown.

“Is there anything I could do? Now that I know, I could help you look after him, Gram.” Cheyenne put a hand over Arabella’s, drawing her attention again; the older woman smiled quietly and gently put her free hand over hers’, “The most I can ask of you is continue to do what you’re doing for Harry right now, be there for him just as you’ve been so far. Continue to look out for him, guide him as best as you can. Just do me one favor, will you?” Cheyenne nodded, “Don’t tell Harry about what I’ve told you of my alliance with Dumbledore, please. There hasn’t been danger in a long time, but I’m supposed to be undercover, just in case something does come up. Can you promise me that?”

Cheyenne looked deep into Arabella’s eyes as she spoke, silent as she considered this; although she didn’t completely understand the magnitude of the situation, she knew it had to be important if her grandmother was asking her to do this. She nodded after a stretch of silence, gently squeezing Arabella’s hand.

“I promise, Gram. I won’t tell him.” 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Arabella turned her hand over to squeeze Cheyenne’s in turn, sighing slowly, “Well…do you have any other questions about all this?”

Cheyenne paused to think it over, “Do you think Voldemort is still out there somewhere…? That he survived?”

Arabella shrugged quietly, “To tell you the truth, Cheyenne, I’m not entirely sure, but there’s a possibility. Voldemort did a lot of terrible things in his time, things that made him less…human than others. Likely there wasn’t much human left in him that could have made it possible for him to die. He could still be out there, waiting for his opportunity, bidding his time. Which is why we have to do what we can if and when he comes back, right?”

Cheyenne nodded, “Right.”

Arabella smiled, “Let’s not dwell too long on this subject now. I’m sure you’re curious about your new school. We’re going to need to get you your supplies, soon.” 

At her words, Cheyenne lowered her gaze to the parchment in her hand, flipping her letter over to look at the supply list again.

**_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry _ **

_**Uniform** _

First-year students will require:

1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4\. One winter cloak (black with silver fastenings)

_Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags._

Humming to herself, Cheyenne turned to the last piece of parchment to read through the list of books and supplies:

**Course Books**

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) _by Miranda Goshawk_

A History of Magic _by Bathilda Bagshot_

Magical Theory _by Adalbert Waffling_

A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch_

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _by Phyllida Spore_

Magical Drafts and Potions _by Arsenius Jigger_

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _by Newt Scamander_

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection b _y Quentin Trimble_

Additional Equipment

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set of glass or crystal phials

1 telescope set

1 set of brass scales

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad._

**PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.**

“Okay, so…” Cheyenne scratched her head with a frown, “Where exactly am I supposed to get all this stuff for school? There’s not some secret shop around the corner that I should know about, is there?” She lifted her gaze back to Arabella, who chuckled softly and shook her head.

“No, not here in Little Whinging. You need to go to Diagon Alley in London.” Arabella heaved a heavy sigh, glaring at her cast, “I’d take you myself if it weren’t for this bloody cast…but seeing as how I’ll need to send Dumbledore a letter letting him know you’ve received your letter, perhaps I could ask him if he could send someone to help you find your way.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully and shifted on the couch to get up, “Hm, Harry should have received his letter by now, too, so he’ll need someone to show him the way as well. Oh, but we have to be sure before I can send a message.” Arabella pushed herself to her feet and hurried toward the kitchen, waving a hand behind her, “Cheyenne, you go gather Harry from the Dursleys and bring him straight here, we’ll get this all sorted out.” Arabella paused then and turned to face her again, “To make things easier, leave your uniform and supply list on the coffee table and bring your letter with you so he knows you got it, too. Quickly now.” 

Cheyenne did as her grandmother asked, setting the two lists aside before stuffing the letter back inside its’ envelope and swinging around the living room door into the hall. She stumbled on the carpet and hit the wall, but didn’t pay it much mind as she made a beeline for the front door, pausing only long enough to pull her trainers from the shoe rack and yank them on, “I’ll be right back, Gram.” She threw over her shoulder as she threw the door open and sprinted out into the humid summer air, down the front walk and out onto the street. 

Although it was known she enjoyed riding her bike practically everywhere, no one could rightly say Cheyenne was slow in any way; thanks to her long legs and lean frame, she was easily one of the fastest girls in her year, which was why it took her less than five minutes to reach Number 4 Privet Drive. 

“Good morning, Mr. Dursley.” She panted as she jogged to a stop in front of the house; Mr. Dursley cast her a disdainful look over his shoulder as he closed the front door sharply behind him. Cheyenne took note of the rather pale hue to his skin and how his mustache seemed a tad, erm…ruffled this morning and wondered briefly what could have agitated him so before she cast her questions aside. The Dursleys were not known for being the most patient people in the world, especially when in a foul mood, so she knew badgering the rather pugnacious man would not be the best move at this moment. It would be best if she left him be and focused on what she came to do. “Well, erm, I-I hope you have a nice day, sir…I’ll just pick up Harry and be on my way. May I?” She indicated to the door with the hand that held her letter. Mr. Dursley glanced at her as he stepped off the front porch and grunted as he started to turn in the direction of his car when he suddenly froze and whipped back toward her so fast it made her jump. 

“You,” His voice was low, dangerous as red rapidly brought color back to his cheeks; Cheyenne took a few steps back, the hair on the back of her neck prickling, “You’re one of those…those…” Mr. Dursley seemed to struggle for a moment to find his words, his eyes flashing while his body slowly seemed to swell, like a bullfrog’s. “You’re just like _him!”_

“W-w-who, M-M-M-Mr. D-Du-Dursley?” Cheyenne choked out, clenching the letter in both hands to steel herself; she usually only stuttered if she was really scared or nervous, like now. It was a tick she’d developed when she’d started primary school, after Dudley and his gang started teasing her because she’d tended to speak softly and stumble over her words when anxious. 

_“Him! The boy!”_ Mr. Dursley waved a hand toward his own home, glaring at Cheyenne with such venom she had to take another step back. “You two, I knew there had to be something between you two, but this!” His hand suddenly flashed out and Cheyenne prepared herself for what he would do, only to be shocked as he snatched the letter from her hands and waved it angrily in her face, “These bloody letters, you’re a freak just as that boy is! Well I refuse to allow this rubbish in my _house!”_ He started tearing the letter to bits right in front of her, leaving Cheyenne with nothing to do but stare in shock, “Now you listen to me, girl.” Mr. Dursley tossed what was left of her letter into the air and took a single step toward her until he was looming over Cheyenne; she took another step back and tripped over her own feet. Falling backward onto the sidewalk, she could do little more than stare up at the large man that stood over her with wide, terrified eyes. “My nephew is not to know a thing about what he is, I will _not_ allow it. He will attend Stonewall High as planned, not that freak school to learn some bloody magic tricks! And neither you nor those fools that run that school are going to change that, do you understand me?” Cheyenne nodded slowly, doing her best to hold back her tears.

“Good, now,” Mr. Dursley deflated a little, although his face was still a dangerous shade of red, “You are never to come ‘round here again, girl. From this day on, I do not want to see either hide nor hair of you or there will be consequences. If you do not heed me, I will involve the police and make sure you can never set foot on Privet Drive again.” He leaned over her, glaring daggers into her eyes, his next words punctuated by the mist of spit that escaped his mouth as he spoke, “Now, get. Off. My. Property.”


	3. Diagon Alley

When Cheyenne returned home with the news of what had happened at the Dursleys’, Arabella was furious. Although she usually kept her tongue, the older woman was not particularly fond of the Dursleys, especially knowing how they treated Harry and what Dudley did to Cheyenne in school. How Mr. Dursley treated Cheyenne today only seemed to deepen her dislike further. 

“Those bloody gits,” Arabella growled as she limped into the living room, offering Cheyenne a box of tissues with a scowl on her face, “If I didn’t need to stay on their good side, I would limp straight over there and give them a piece of my mind, I would! Treat my granddaughter like that, will they? They deserve such a wallop!”

Cheyenne sniffled as she wiped her tears away and blew her nose, “What’re we going to do now, Gram…? Mr. Dursley said they won’t let Harry know who he is…and knowing I’m a witch, too, they aren’t going to let me ‘round him…”

Arabella clicked her tongue, “Well, knowing how he reacted, Harry’s letter was already sent, even though he didn’t get it. I still need to write Dumbledore and let him know you have yours’, and while I’m at it, I’ll let him know what’s going on with Harry, too. Dumbledore’s a brilliant man, so I have no doubt he’ll figure out a way to get Harry his letter, too. Muggles like the Dursleys cannot keep Harry from where he truly belongs.”

Cheyenne watched Arabella hobble over to the writing table in the corner, where she produced a piece of parchment, an inkwell, and a beautiful eagle feather pen from the drawer as she took a seat. 

“Do you want me to post your letter, Gram?” She asked, getting to her feet to join Arabella at the desk; the older woman shook her head without looking up from what she was writing, “No, dear, just open the window for me, would you?”

“The window…?” Cheyenne frowned as she went to do as she was asked, “How does opening a window help - !” A shriek escaped her lips as something large and feathery fluttered past her into the house. When she turned, a large barn own had settled itself on the back of Arabella’s chair, ruffling its’ feathers. “Gram…?”

“It’s all right, Chey.” Arabella said, still not looking up, “This is how magical folks’ post works. We use owls to send one another letters and packages.”

Cheyenne blinked slowly, but was, somehow, not as surprised as she thought she would be as she walked carefully back over to the desk; when she offered her hand to the owl, it nibbled lightly on her fingers and she smiled lightly, watching in amazement when it hopped up on her hand, “Wow, I never thought an owl could be trained so well.” 

“Training them as long as we have, we’ve perfected the technique.” Arabella finished her letter and folded it up before sealing it inside an envelope; after scrawling a quick address on the back, she held it out to the owl, who clamped it in it’s beak, “Get him to the window, quickly now.” 

The owl took off as soon as Cheyenne reached the sill and she watched as it disappeared into the clear cyan sky, “Do you really think Dumbledore will be able to solve this, Gram?”

“Oh yes, I’m quite sure,” A pressure on her shoulder pulled Cheyenne’s attention away from the sky and she turned to meet her grandmother’s reassuring gaze, “Trust me, my girl, Dumbledore’s a brilliant wizard, he’ll be sure to figure something out to make sure Harry gets his letter. He didn’t become Headmaster of Hogwarts for nothing, you know!”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Cheyenne’s lips as she nodded, “All right, Gram. I’ll trust you on this.” 

“Good girl.” Arabella squeezed Cheyenne’s shoulder and limped back toward the kitchen, “Let’s not fret too much now, there’s not much we can do at the moment. I think a pot of tea, some sweets, and cartoons are just what you need after that nasty ordeal.” 

Cheyenne couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped her lips as she watched Arabella disappear into the kitchen, a genuine smile on her lips while she pulled the window closed, “You always know just how to cheer me up, Gram.”

  
The week following the incident outside the Dursleys’ house was a long one; after her discussion with Mr. Dursley, Cheyenne did everything she could to avoid Number 4 when she knew he was home. But even then, she tried not to go near enough that Mrs. Dursley would notice her; she had no doubt her husband would have told her about what happened and had her support about Cheyenne being banned from their house. It wasn’t as though she’d been able to enter the Dursleys’ home before, but still…after that, she was sure they would do anything to keep her from talking to Harry, including keeping her out and him in so they had no chance of talking. And despite her grandmother’s reassurances, Cheyenne had her moments of doubt when she often wondered if she’d ever be able to see her best friend again. The Dursleys were so hellbent on keeping them apart now, she had to wonder if they’d even let the two be together when she came back from school for the holidays. Was this just it for the two of them…?

“Dear, I really wish you wouldn’t fret so.” Arabella said Monday afternoon as she set a tray of tea on the coffee table, glancing worriedly at where Cheyenne sat on the sill of the front window, her arms folded over her chest, head leaning against the warm glass. She hadn’t moved from that spot since the previous morning, after she’d nearly been run over by the Dursleys during their frantic escape from Privet Drive. All Cheyenne could picture now was Harry’s scared, albeit agitated, eyes staring back at her in place of her own reflection, repeatedly growing smaller and smaller as they drove away. No one had seen either hide nor hair of Harry or the Dursleys since…and none of them knew where they had gone, although Arabella suspected that had been done on purpose. She had no doubt they were trying to escape the numerous letters Hogwarts had been sending Harry. “It’s only a matter of time before Dumbledore steps in…he’s sure to get things sorted out…”

Cheyenne hugged her arms tighter to herself, “It’s Harry’s birthday tomorrow…” She murmured, feeling like a vice had a tight grip on her heart, “This will be the first time we won’t celebrate together since we were five…what if I’m never able to celebrate it with him again…?” Tears blurred her eyes, burning her cheeks as they escaped, “Gram, what if I never see him again…? I don’t want to leave him alone with those people…” 

“Sweetheart…” Arabella rounded the coffee table and limped over to the window, putting a gentle arm around Cheyenne, who leaned into her embrace as her grandmother ran a gentle hand through her hair, “You’ll see Harry again, I promise…Dumbledore is one of the best wizards of his time and I know he’ll make sure Harry gets his letter. You won’t have to go to Hogwarts without him.”

Would this man really be able to save her best friend like her grandmother had said? Cheyenne still didn’t know…she hadn’t known anything about magic until she’d gotten her letter and even now, she still knew very little of this new world she belonged to. She guessed she just had to trust Arabella, even as the empty feeling in her stomach persisted. 

That night was spent in a restless slumber; a massive storm blew in around dusk, hammering rain against the windows and roofs, fueling nightmares of Harry and the Dursleys in an accident or being stranded somewhere, cold and drenched with rain. Needless to say, she was not in the best of moods when Arabella woke her up the following morning. At least, not until she heard the news.

“Just got a letter from Dumbledore this morning.” Arabella said, tossing clothes onto the end of Cheyenne’s bed while her granddaughter rubbed the sleep from her eyes, “They’ve finally got Harry his letter and he’s being taken to London today to get his school supplies. I’ve already arranged for you to meet them at the Leaky Cauldron to get yours’, too.”

“What?” Cheyenne was immediately awake. Arabella smiled at the wide-eyed look on her face, “You heard me, young lady.” She chuckled as Cheyenne practically threw herself at Arabella, hugging her tight. “I knew that would make you happy. But let’s not dawdle, I’m sure Harry and Hagrid are on their way to London as we speak. You get dressed and I’ll make you something you can eat on the way. Hop to it.” 

Tossing the blankets aside, Cheyenne hurried to change out of her pajamas and into the pair of skinny jeans and white tank top Arabella had picked out for her. After making her bed, she yanked on her red and white trainers, grabbed her house keys and wallet, and left her room, jumping the last few stairs at the bottom. 

Arabella was waiting for her in the kitchen, zipping her old schoolbag closed as she walked through the door.

“I’ve packed some food in here for you and Harry.” She told Cheyenne as she handed her the bag; Cheyenne smiled gratefully as she shrugged it on, “You’ll need these, too.” Arabella held out two more items; one of them was a folded piece of paper and another was a small, golden key. “These are directions to the Leaky Cauldron.” Arabella handed Cheyenne the paper, then held up the key, “And this is for your bank vault. Don’t lose it.” Cheyenne took the key in surprise, blinking, “Since when -?”

“Your parents left you some money when they died. And since I do pretty well earning my own money, I’ve had no use for it myself.” Arabella smiled softly at the shocked expression still on her granddaughter’s face, “What? You didn’t think your parents would’ve left you anything?”

“I…I thought maybe it would’ve been something small, not this.” Cheyenne admitted sheepishly, adding the vault key to her ring before tucking them and the paper into the pockets of her jeans. Arabella chuckled, “Well, you would’ve needed some way to get your supplies, wouldn’t you?” Cheyenne smiled quietly and nodded in agreement. “Well, you should have everything now, so you’d best hurry. You don’t want to keep the boys waiting.” 

Cheyenne nodded once more, then paused before she hugged Arabella tightly again, “Thank you for everything, Gram.”

Arabella smiled softly and hugged Cheyenne gently in return, “Anytime, my girl, anytime.” She pulled back, “Now go on, go out and have fun. I’ll see you when you get back.” 

Kissing her grandmother’s cheek gently, Cheyenne jogged out of the kitchen and left through the front door. The train station was just about a mile from the house and she jumped onto the next train heading into London, which was just boarding as she arrived. Ignoring the disgruntled grumbles and the glares adults sent her as she pushed her way through the crowd in her haste to catch the train before it left, Cheyenne couldn’t help the smile that stretched her lips at the thought of being reunited with her best friend and the things they would see today. What kind of shops would wizards have? Would they have regular shops, like for uniforms or bookstores? And how would they find these shops? Where were they hidden?

These questions whirled in Cheyenne’s head the entire train ride and followed her when she got off at her stop and took a subway car into the heart of London, although they would soon be pushed to the back of her mind once she entered the hustle and bustle of the city so she could focus on finding her way. 

Her grandmother’s directions would lead the young woman along different streets lined on either side with seemingly ordinary shops. There was a book store displaying the newest romance novel, it’s front windows plastered with advertisements and sales the shop was having of completely ordinary books; a music store with a display that was composed of posters of the hottest bands and groups; a hamburger shop competing against a couple small cafes that advertised different types of teas and scones; an old cinema with the newest blockbusters displayed out front in golden glass frames. Not a single one looked as though it sold a spell book or a magical wand. Cheyenne paused on a corner to check the piece of paper in her hand again, furrowing her brows before she looked up at the street signs. 

“I’m on the right street…” She murmured to herself, scanning the shops on either side of her, “So it should be –“

“Chey!” The familiar voice cut off her thought and Cheyenne immediately whipped around to find the source. Her heart leapt into her throat in excitement when she spotted her best friend’s mop of untidy black hair as he pushed his way through the crowd toward her. 

“Harry!” She shrieked with happiness, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she launched herself across the street, practically tackling Harry into a hug. He stumbled back a couple of steps, his arms wrapping tight around her waist as she buried her face in his shoulder. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, Chey.” She could feel his smile against her shoulder as he gently squeezed her waist before the friends pulled apart so she could get a good look at him. Harry looked like he hadn’t gotten a decent night sleep in the week they’d been apart and he looked in desperate need of a shower; his hair was even messier than it usually was and his clothes were rumpled, covered with a mixture of dirt and soot.

“What in the world happened to you, Harry?” She frowned, wiping some dirt off his cheek; his closed his eye as her finger passed underneath it, then smiled sheepishly.

“Uncle Vernon took us out of Little Whinging to try and stop letters from getting to me. We were staying in this dinky little shack out in the ocean when someone finally found us.” Realization dawned on Harry’s face that he’d run off without telling his guide and he turned to find him. Cheyenne blinked and looked in the direction he was, her eyes widening when they fell on the giant that had come up behind Harry while they’d been talking. Her gaze moved higher and she had to tilt her head back a bit in order to look up into the face of the man, or, at least, what she could see of his face, which was mostly obscured by a mane of long, shaggy hair and a wild, tangled beard. The one thing she could see of this giant’s face were his eyes, which looked like a pair of shiny black beetles winking out at them from among the tangles of hair. 

“There yeh are, Cheyenne, I was startin’ ta wonder where ya were.” The beard twitched and she could swear he was beaming at her. 

“You must be Hagrid, right?” Cheyenne smiled shyly, remembering the name of the man her grandmother had told her about. Hagrid chuckled softly and nodded as Harry shot Cheyenne a quizzical look, which she answered with a sheepish smile, feeling her heart grow heavy at the idea of having to lie, especially to him, “I got a letter this morning from a man named Dumbledore. He told me I’d be able to meet you and the school gamekeeper, Hagrid, here in London and he’d bring us to get our school supplies.”

“I’m guessin’ ya were tryin’ ta find the Leaky Cauldron, weren’t ya, Cheyenne?” Hagrid smiled warmly down at the two and she nodded, “Well ya were close, but if yeh’ve never been there before, it’ll be hard to spot. C’mon, I’ll show you the way.”

Harry took Cheyenne’s hand and pulled her along after Hagrid, who was large enough that he parted the crowd easily, leaving the pair to just have to follow closely behind him. He didn’t stop until they’d almost reached the end of the street, where he indicated to a tiny, grubby-looking pub that neither Harry nor Cheyenne would’ve been able to notice on their own. The crowd around them barely even spared the building a glance, their eyes landing either on the big bookshop on one side or the record store on the other, as though the pub wasn’t even there. A voice in the back of Cheyenne’s mind pointed out that maybe the three of them were the only ones who could really see it. 

“Here we are, the Leaky Cauldron.” Hagrid beamed, looking down at his two charges, “It’s a famous place.”

“Doesn’t look all that famous to me…” Harry murmured to Cheyenne as Hagrid steered the two of them inside; the interior of the building seemed to match its’ exterior quite well, from what the two could tell. And yet, despite it’s dark, shabby appearance, the pub still contained a decently sized crowd; in one corner sat a couple of old women throwing back tiny glasses of sherry, one of them with a long, smoking pipe clamped between her teeth; a short man in a top hat sat at the bar, chatting pleasantly with the old, bald bartender. The low murmur of conversation seemed to cease as soon as the trio walked into the room as the patrons turned to greet Hagrid, most likely a regular around here, from what Cheyenne could guess, something which was confirmed when the bartender reached back for a glass, calling out, “The usual, Hagrid?”

“Can’t today, Tom, I’m on official Hogwarts business.” Hagrid replied cheerfully, clapping one of his great hands on Harry’s shoulder; Cheyenne hurriedly caught her best friend as his knees buckled to stop him from falling to the dirty floor. “Gotta take the young Potter and Power here to get their school supplies.”

The bartender, Tom, froze at Hagrid’s words and turned back toward them, leaning over the bar to peer closely at Harry and Cheyenne with wide eyes, “My word…” He croaked out, bracing his hands on the wooden surface, as though he was about to faint as his eyes swept their faces, “Is this…could it be…”

The Leaky Cauldron had gone completely still at this point as everyone had turned to watch the exchange. Cheyenne shrank into herself a little, uncomfortable at being the center of attention. 

“Bless my soul,” Tom’s voice was barely a whisper now, “Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power…it’s an honor.”

Before either pre-teen could utter a word, Tom had rounded the bar and hurried toward them to clasp Harry’s hand between his, his eyes brimming with tears. 

“Welcome back, Mr. Potter, Miss Power, welcome back.” 

Neither Harry nor Cheyenne knew quite what to say as they glanced at one another out of the corner of their eyes. There was a beat in which the rest of the pub continued to stare while they processed what was happening; the woman in the corner with the pipe continued to puff on it without realizing that it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.

Then all at once the pub filled with the sound of chair legs scraping the wooden floor as the crowd converged on the pair, suddenly eager to shake their hands.

“Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, Miss Power, can’t believe I’m meeting the two of you at last.” One of the women beamed as she vigorously shook Cheyenne’s hand. 

“So proud, you two, I’m just so proud.” One of the men rambled. 

“Oh, I’ve always wants to shake both your hands – ah, I’m all a flutter!” Another woman gushed. 

“Delighted, Mr. Potter, Miss Power, I can’t tell you both enough. Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle.”

“Hey, I’ve seen you before!” Harry stared at Dedalus Diggle in surprise as he swept into a low bow, causing his top hat to fall off in his excitement, “Chey, this is the man I told you about, the one that bowed to me once in a shop.”

“He remembers me!” Dedalus Diggle cried, looking around at everyone with a beaming smile, “Did you all hear? Mr. Potter remembers me!” 

Cheyenne almost laughed, although her attention was pulled back to the crowd as she and Harry shook hands again and again – Doris Crockford couldn’t seem to get enough. 

A pale young man stepped up to the front, fidgeting nervously and shifting his weight from foot to foot, as though he had to go to the bathroom. He seemed to have a nervous tick in one of his eyes, which twitched periodically. 

“Professor Quirrell!” Hagrid greeted the young man brightly, “Harry, Cheyenne, this is Professor Quirrell, he’ll be one of your teachers at Hogwarts.”

“P-P-Potter,” Professor Quirrell stammered as he first grasped Harry’s, then Cheyenne’s hands, “P-P-Power, c-can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet the t-two of you.”

Cheyenne smiled warmly at him in hopes of making him feel more comfortable, “What subject do you teach at the school, Professor Quirrell?”

Professor Quirrell’s palor seemed to pale further, as though the thought of his own subject frightened him, “D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts,” He murmured, glancing away from Cheyenne’s inquisitive stare as he let out a faint laugh, smiling faintly at her and Harry, “N-not that either of you really n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter, P-Power?” Harry and Cheyenne smiled quietly in amusement as he straightened, “S-So, you’ll both be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I-I’ve got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself…” He trailed off, his eyes widening in horror at the thought. 

None of the other patrons in the Leaky Cauldron would let Professor Quirrell keep either Harry or Cheyenne to himself for long, however. It took almost ten minutes before the pair could manage to get away, as Hagrid called out over the babble.

“Well, we must be getting’ on – lots ter buy. Come on, you two.”

Doris Crockford managed to shake Harry’s hand one last time before he and Cheyenne were steered through the bar and through a back door that led into a small, walled off courtyard. Its only occupants comprised of a metal trash can and a few weeds growing through the cracks in the cobblestone. 

Hagrid grinned down at the two of them as the door swung shut behind them.

“I told yeh, didn’t I, Harry? I told yeh the twoa yeh were famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin’ ter meet yeh both – ‘course, he’s usually tremblin’.”

“Is he usually that nervous?” Harry asked with a frown, knitting his eyebrows as Hagrid nodded.

“Oh, yeah, poor bloke. He’s a brilliant wizard, real book smart, but things changed when he decided ter take a year off ter get some firsthand experience…People say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and had a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag – never really been the same since. He’s scared of his students, not ter mention his own subject –“Hagrid shook his head sadly as he rummaged through his jacket, which looked to be made up of nothing but pockets, “now, where did I put me umbrella?” 

Cheyenne’s head reeled with the mental images of what Professor Quirrell must have seen on his journeys. Could he really have seen vampires? A hag, in person? Hagrid, meanwhile, was too busy counting the bricks in the wall above the trash can.

“Three up…two across…” He murmured to himself, nodding, before he swept his arm out carefully, moving Harry and Cheyenne back out of the way, “Right, stand back, yeh two.”

Using the end of his umbrella, he tapped the wall three times. 

As soon as he tapped the brick a third time, it started to quiver and wriggle in place as a small hole began to appear, a hole that slowly started to grow bigger and bigger. In the blank of an eye, the trio were facing an archway large enough for Hagrid to step through, an archway that let out onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight. 

“Welcome to Diagon Alley.” Hagrid smiled down at Harry and Cheyenne, who could only stare in amazement at the street set out before them as they stepped through the archway. Harry and Cheyenne threw a quick glance over their shoulders in time to watch it shrink back into a solid wall. 

Out in front of one of the nearby shops, the sun shone brightly off some cauldrons that were stacked neatly under a hanging sign reading: Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver – Self-Stirring – Collapsible.

“You’ll both be needin’ one of those,” Hagrid said as he led Harry and Cheyenne past that shop, “But we gotta go get yer money first.” 

Cheyenne suddenly wished she had the ability to turn her head completely around like an owl so she could look at everything at once as they walked up the street. Each shop they passed was more fascinating than the last, drawing patrons inside with colorful posters and amazing exterior displays and the shoppers they passed were dressed in robes of various colors. A plump woman standing outside an Apothecary scowled at one of the full wooden barrels, “Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they’re barking mad…” 

The sound of low, soft hooting drew their attention to a dark shop set a little further back, dubbed Eeylops Owl Emporium by the sign over the door, which also held a short list of the owls they sold. A little further along, a group of boys Harry and Cheyenne’s age had their noses pressed against a window that housed a display of broomsticks. 

“Look,” Cheyenne heard one of them say excitedly, tapping the glass with a finger, “the new Nimbus Two Thousand – fastest broom yet –“

Further along, they passed a robe shop, a shop that sold telescopes and various strange silver instruments neither Harry nor Cheyenne had ever seen before; several shops had their front windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels’ eyes, while the one bookshop’s window was stacked with tottering piles of spell books. One supply shop had a display comprised of various quills, rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon, etc…

Harry and Cheyenne were so busy trying to look at everything they almost ran into Hagrid when he came to a sudden halt, “Gringotts.” Was all he said when they stepped around him to see the hold up; both Harry and Cheyenne had to crane their necks back in order to look up at the snowy white building before them, which easily towered over the rest of the shops. Beside the tall, burnished bronze doors, dressed in robes of scarlet and gold stood –

“Yeah, that’s a goblin.” Hagrid murmured quietly to Harry and Cheyenne as he led the way up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin stood about a head shorter than Harry and had a swarthy, sharp face, with a pointed beard and slender fingers and feet. He bowed to the three as they walked through the bronze doors. On the other side was a second set of doors made of silver, engraved with these words:

Enter, stranger, but take heed  
Of what awaits the sin of greed,  
For those who take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly in their turn.  
So, if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there.

“Like I told yeh, Harry,” Hagrid nudged him lightly, “Yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob this place.”

The pair of goblins guarding the second set of doors bowed them through into a vast marble hall. There were about a hundred more goblins inside, seated on high stools behind three long counters, where they scribbled on large ledgers, weighed coins in brass scales, and examined precious stones through special eyeglasses. The walls on either side were lined with different doors that led out of the hall, doors through which more goblins moved in and out, showing people about the building. Hagrid led the way to the counter. 

“Morning.” He greeted a free goblin, who looked up from under his glasses, “We’ve come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter and Miss Cheyenne Power’s safes.”

“You have their keys, sir?”

“I’ve got Mr. Potter’s here somewhere.” Hagrid said before he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a large handful of moldy dog discuits over the goblin’s ledger, causing him to wrinkle his nose. Cheyenne reached into her jeans pocket to pull out her key while Harry watched a goblin to the right weigh a pile of rubies the size of glowing coals. The goblin leaned over the counter and took the key from Cheyenne after she’d unhooked it from her key ring.

“Got it,” Hagrid said, drawing their attention again as he held out a tiny golden key. The goblin took that from him as well and examined both.

“That seems to be in order.” 

“An’ I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore.” Hagrid said, puffing up his chest with pride, “It concerns that You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.” 

The goblin took the letter and read it over carefully before handing it back with a nod.

“Very well, I will have someone take you down to all three vaults. Griphook!”

Another goblin walked up to the three and took the keys from his companion while Hagrid crammed all the dog biscuits back into his pockets. Once they were set, he, Harry, and Cheyenne followed Griphook toward one of the many doors leading off the hall. 

“What’s the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?” Harry asked, looking up at Hagrid, who shook his head.

“Can’t tell either o’ yeh that,” He said with a small smile, “Very secret Hogwarts business that Dumbledore’s trusted me with. More’n my job’s worth, ter tell yeh that much.”

Harry and Cheyenne looked at one another with quirked brows as Griphook pushed the door open and held it for the three of them to go through first. On the other side, instead of another marble room, was a narrow stone passage that had a very step downward slope, lit only by the light of a group of flaming torches. The four paused next to the railway tracks that lined the floor while Griphook whistled; the tracks rattled as a small cart came hurtling up toward them. Harry and Cheyenne climbed in with Griphook and turned to help Hagrid get in as well before the cart took off. 

The cart hurtled through a confusing maze of twisting passages that were almost impossible to keep track of at their current speed. Although, judging by the fact that Griphook wasn’t steering, it was likely the cart had been enchanted to know its’ way around. 

Cheyenne blinked as the cold air rushing past them bit at her cheeks, doing her best to keep her eyes open to watch where they were going. A burst of bright orange and yellow at the end of a passage they passed made her jump and she jerked around with Harry for a better look – they were too late, however, as they just continued to plunge deeper, passing by an underground lake that was surrounded by huge stalactites and stalagmites growing from the ceiling and floor.

“I could never figure it out,” Harry called to Hagrid and Cheyenne over the loud rattling of the cart, “what’s the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?”

“Stalagmite’s got an ‘m’ in it,” Hagrid groaned, “An’ don’ be askin’ me questions just now, I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

Harry and Cheyenne looked worriedly at the giant, who looked rather green around the gills; when the cart stopped at last beside a small door built into the passage wall, Hagrid clambered to get out and lean against the wall to stop the trembling in his knees. Harry stepped out after him and turned to offer Cheyenne a hand out as well.  
“In answer to your question, Harry, they both refer to mineral deposits in a cave, but stalagmites grow from the floor and stalactites grow from the ceiling.” Cheyenne told him as they followed Griphook to the door. Harry looked at his best friend with his head cocked, intrigued, before he turned back to Griphook as the goblin unlocked the door. There was a quiet hiss and a bellow of green smoke as the door swung open; waving a hand to clear the air, Cheyenne’s eyes widened when she could finally see beyond the smoke. Tucked into the underground vault were piles of coins, either made up of gold, silver, or bronze metal. 

“All yours’, Harry.” Hagrid beamed as he came up beside them. Harry blinked, seeming to come back to himself as he looked up at their guide, then at Cheyenne, who smiled encouragingly, knowing how he must be feeling now. Unlike her, Harry had never had any money for himself, as the Dursleys utterly refused to even give him so much as pocket change for lunch at school. She had no doubt he was still trying to wrap his brain around the idea that he had a small fortune all for himself buried deep under London. And, if she was completely honest, after everything he’d had to endure living with his awful relatives, she thought Harry more than deserved it. 

Hagrid gave Harry a small bag, which he and Cheyenne helped him fill with a couple piles of coins. 

“The gold ones are Galleons,” Hagrid explained as Griphook closed the vault again, “Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a Sickle, it’s easy enough. This should last yeh a couple o’ terms, Harry, and we’ll be sure to keep the rest safe for yeh.” He turned to Griphook again, “To Miss Power’s vault now, please, and do yeh think we could go a little more slowly?”

“One speed only,” Griphook said with a tone to his voice that said that was final as they all climbed back into the cart. 

Cheyenne’s vault was not too far from Harry’s; after only about a minute of riding, they arrived at another small door. Just as with Harry’s vault, a soft hiss issued out from around the door as it was unlocked, followed by a bellow of green smoke. Her fortune was just about the same size as his, comprised of hundreds of gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts.

“Well, at least we know we’ll both be covered for a while.” Cheyenne exchanged a smile with Harry as he helped her pile some of the coins into her bag. “I don’t even know if I could’ve gotten anything in exchange for my allowance.” 

“Even if you could, I dunno how much you would’ve gotten.” Harry admitted sheepishly as they climbed back into the cart and took off again. Cheyenne nodded in understanding while the cart carried them deeper underground, seeming to gather speed as they went. The temperature steadily got colder the deeper they got, with each tight corner they rounded, until both Harry and Cheyenne almost couldn’t feel their faces anymore. At one point, the ground dropped away from the tracks as they drove over an underground ravine; Harry leaned over the edge of the cart in an attempt to see through the darkness to find the bottom, but Hagrid gave a low groan and quickly pulled him back by the scruff of the neck. 

When they arrived at their final destination, vault seven hundred and thirteen had a door that was very different from the ones that guarded either Harry or Cheyenne’s; this door was larger, made of a thick steel and decorated with beautiful, intricate designs. But what was most peculiar was the fact that this door had no keyhole.

“Stand back,” Griphook told the three promptly, holding out an arm to emphasize his point while he stroked the door with the index finger of his other hand. The change was instantaneous, like the door seemed to change from solid to liquid before their eyes and melt away. 

“If anyone except for a Gringotts goblin had tried that, they’d be sucked through this door and trapped inside.” Griphook explained. 

“How often do you check inside to see if anyone’s in there?” Harry asked curiously; the grin Griphook gave him and Cheyenne sent an uncomfortable shiver down her spine and caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end.

“About once every ten years,” The goblin replied smugly, which made Cheyenne sigh quietly to herself, knowing she wouldn’t have liked his answer. But then, if this was such a high security vault, neither she nor Harry had any doubt that whatever was inside was extraordinary. 

Half expecting jewels or some kind of incredible treasure, the pair peered in eagerly, only to frown as they scanned the inside of the seemingly empty vault. But, wait, why was it…oh…

As Hagrid stepped around them, Harry and Cheyenne took notice of the grubby little package sitting in the middle of the vault. It couldn’t have been any bigger than either of their palms and whatever was inside was wrapped in dirty brown paper. Leaning down, Hagrid picked the package up and tucked it into one of the many pockets of his coat without a word; Cheyenne frowned to herself, wondering what could be so important about something as small as that as she looked at Harry, who gave a small shrug, as though silently telling her it was best to let it lie. 

“All right, let’s get back inta this infernal cart…” He grumbled as Griphook closed the vault behind them, “And don’t either o’ yeh talk to me on the way back…best if I kept me mouth shut.” 

Not too long after, the trio made their way out of Gringotts and stopped to allow their eyes to readjust to the sunlight. Cheyenne glanced at Harry as her vision adjusted, smiling quietly in amusement as he shifted restlessly, obvious eager to get to shopping now that he had some money to spend. What he had now was more money than she knew he’d ever had before, probably even more than Dudley had ever had in his life, and she knew he was eager to spend it.

“Best ter get yer uniforms first.” Hagrid said as he nodded to the nearest robe shop, which was dubbed Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. “Erm, listen, Harry, Cheyenne, would the twoa yeh mind if I slipped off fer a little pick-me-up at the Leaky Cauldron? I really hate them Gringotts carts.” 

Seeing as he was still looking rather pale from the ride, Harry and Cheyenne encouraged Hagrid to go settle his stomach, reassuring him they would be able to handle it as he headed off. As soon as the giant was out of sight, Cheyenne grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him into the shop. 

A bell chimed above the door as they walked inside, drawing the attention of the squat witch behind the counter; she turned to the pair with a beaming smile and bustled toward them, dressed in mauve colored robes. 

“Hogwarts, dears?” She asked before either of them could open their mouths, “Got the lot of robes here for you – another young man is being fitted about now, in fact.”

The witch, who Harry and Cheyenne guessed was the shop owner, Madam Malkin, led them to the back, where a boy their age stood on a footstool, being fitted in a long black robe. The boy was thin, with a pale, pointed face, bright blond hair, and steely grey eyes. Madam Malkin pulled a second stool up beside the boy and had Cheyenne step up onto it before she slipped a long robe over her head and began pinning it to her size while Harry took a seat on a bench against the wall. 

“Hello,” The boy looked between Harry and Cheyenne, “You two going to Hogwarts, too?”

“Yes,” Harry replied. 

“My father’s next door buying my books while mother’s gone up the street to look at wands.” The boy explained, needing little encouragement to continue; he sounded bored, like he would rather be anywhere but here, and his voice had a bit of a drawl to it. “After that, I think I’ll drag them off to look at the racing brooms.” He sniffed, as though something occurred to him that he didn’t like, “I still don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll see if I can’t smuggle it in somehow.”

Cheyenne glanced at the boy out of the corner of her eye before she exchanged a look with Harry, who grimaced quietly to himself, his thoughts obviously along the same lines as hers’. If this boy had been at their school, neither of them would’ve had any doubt he would have gotten along swimmingly with Dudley. 

“Have either of you got your own brooms?” The boy continued. 

“No, we don’t.” Cheyenne replied shortly, hoping that would be the end of the conversation. Unfortunately for her, it was not to be. 

“Do you play Quidditch at all?”

“No.” Harry replied this time, exchanging a somewhat confused look with Cheyenne, who hadn’t the faintest idea of what Quidditch could possibly be. 

“I do –“ The boy smirked, obviously smug, “Father says it’d be a crime if I wasn’t picked to play for my house, and I have to say, I quite agree. Do either you know what house you’ll be in yet?”

“No…” Harry and Cheyenne replied together, both of them suddenly feeling very inadequate in that moment. 

“Well, no one really knows that until they actually get there, do they?’ The boy stood straighter, lifting his chin proudly, “I know I’ll be in Slytherin, though, all my family has been – but just imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I’d just leave if I had to be in that house, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re done, dear.” Madam Malkin said, saving either Harry or Cheyenne from having to say anything. Harry stood up to take his turn, gently handing Cheyenne down from the stool. 

“Are you two dating or something?” The boy asked, having been watching. Heat rushed into Cheyenne’s cheeks, burning her ears as Harry stepped up onto the stool, hiding his blush behind the robe Madam Malkin slipped over his head. 

“We’re just friends.” Cheyenne told the boy, crossing her arms quietly. The boy hummed, obviously not convinced. Before he could say anything, however, something at the front of the shop caught his attention, interrupting his train of thought.

“I say, look at that man!” He nodded toward the front window; Cheyenne and Harry turned to follow his gaze, spotting Hagrid standing outside. He smiled when he caught their eyes and indicated to the three large ice creams in his hand, showing he couldn’t come inside. 

“That’s Hagrid,” Harry said promptly, notching his chin proudly at knowing something the boy did not. “He works at Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” The boy didn’t sound all too impressed, “I think I’ve heard of him. He’s some sort of servant there, isn’t he?”

“No, he’s the school gamekeeper.” Cheyenne corrected, frowning at the boy, not liking the way he spoke about their friend, like he was inferior to them.

“Yes, exactly. I’ve heard he’s some soft of savage – lives in a hut on the school grounds. I hear whenever he tries to do magic when he’s drunk, he ends up setting fire to his bed.”

“I think he’s brilliant.” Harry told the boy coldly.

“We both do.” Cheyenne added. The boy quirked a brow.

“Do you two?” The boy asked, his lips twisting into a sneer, “Well, why is he here with you? Where are your parents?”

“Dead.” Harry and Cheyenne chorused; Cheyenne glanced away uneasily, not wanting to discuss the matter with a stranger. 

“Oh, sorry.” The words sounded more dismissive than apologetic, “But they all were our kind, weren’t they?”

“If you’re asking if they were witches and wizards, yes, they were.” Harry looked at Cheyenne with a frown, knowing she didn’t like talking about this. 

“You know, I really don’t think they should let the other sort into the school, do you? They just aren’t the same, they haven’t been brought up to know our ways. I bet some of them never even heard of Hogwarts before they got their letter. We really should keep magic in the old wizarding families. What’re your surnames?”

Madam Malkin once again saved the two from having to answer, “That’s it, you’re done, sweetie.” She told Harry, who immediately hopped down from the footstool.

“Well, I’ll see the two of you at Hogwarts, I suppose.” The boy drawled as Harry grabbed Cheyenne’s hand and pulled her away toward the counter so they could pay for their robes before they left. 

Hagrid noticed the two seemed rather down as they strolled away from the robe shop, cocking his head as Harry picked at his chocolate and raspberry ice cream. Cheyenne glanced at Harry silently, but reassured Hagrid they were fine as they went into the next shop to buy parchment and quills. Cheyenne was more than a little surprised to find out how many different kinds of ink there was and decided to pick up a well of ink that changed color as you wrote alongside her plain black ink. 

“Hey Hagrid.” Harry looked up at the giant as they left that shop, “What’s Quidditch?” 

“Blimey I keep forgettin’ how little the twoa yeh know about our world – don’t even know about Quidditch!”

“Please Hagrid, we feel bad enough as is…” Cheyenne muttered quietly with a frown as Harry told him about the pale boy, they’d met back in Madam Malkin’s.

“ – he said people from Muggle families shouldn’t be allowed into Hogwarts –“

“Neither o’ yeh are from Muggle families, though. That boy woulda changed his tone if he knew who yeh both were – he’s grown up knowin’ both yer names if his parents are wizardin’ folks. You both saw everyone’s reactions in the Leaky Cauldron when they saw yeh. And anyway, what does he know about that, somea the best witches and wizards I’ve ever known were the ones that came from a long line o’ Muggles – just look at yer mum, Harry! Look what she had fer a sister!”

“So…what is Quidditch?”

“It’s our sport, wizard sport. Think of it like…soccer in the Muggle world – everyone in our world follows Quidditch – it’s played up in the air on broomsticks and there’s four balls – kinda hard ter explain the rules…”

“He mentioned something about Slytherin and Hufflepuff…” Cheyenne said with a frown.

“Those’re twoa the school houses. There’s four in all: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o’ duffers, but –“

“We’re probably gonna end up in Hufflepuff then…” Harry exchanged a frown with Cheyenne.

“Better you’re both in Hufflepuff than Slytherin,” Hagrid told them grimly. “There isn’t a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t sorted into Slytherin. You-Know-Who was a Slytherin, you know.”

Cheyenne looked at Harry, confused about who You-Know-Who could be as Harry furrowed his brows, “Vol – oh, sorry – You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?”

Cheyenne looked back up at Hagrid, guessing by how Harry had stopped himself from saying the name that who they were talking about was the man her grandmother had told her about before. 

“Years an’ years ago.” Hagrid said with a nod. 

Cheyenne was in absolute heaven when they walked into Flourish and Blotts, the one bookshop in Diagon Alley, to get her and Harry’s school books. The shop was almost bursting with literature, with shelves stacked clear to the ceiling with books of various sizes, from large leather-bound books the size of paving stones, to silken covered books as small as postage stamps. There were books full of strange, but fascinating symbols and even some with blank pages. The shop had so many interesting books she was sure someone like Dudley, who she knew was not much of a reader, would have gone bonkers trying to get his hands on even just one of them. Hagrid did have to put his foot down, though, when Harry found a book tilted Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian. 

“I was trying to find out a way to curse Dudley.” Harry pouted as Hagrid dragged him out of the shop while Cheyenne hurried after.

“Not sayin’ that’s not a good idea, but neither o’ yeh are allowed ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances,” Hagrid told him firmly, leading the way up the alley. “An’ anyway, neither o’ yeh are experienced enough to work any of them curses yet. Yeh’ll need ter study hard before yeh get ter that level.” 

Hagrid wouldn’t let Harry buy himself a solid gold cauldron, either, since both he and Cheyenne needed pewter cauldrons for school, but the two of them did get a nice new set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope each. After that, they visited the Apothecary, a fascinating shop in of itself, full of containers of different ingredients, from barrels of slimy entrails and organs to jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powers that lined the walls, and bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the owner for a couple of supplies of some basic potion ingredients for them, Harry and Cheyenne examined the silver unicorn horns and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes on sale. The silver unicorn horns were the more expensive at twenty-one Galleons each, while the beetle eyes were being sold for five Knuts a scoop.

As they stepped out of the Apothecary, Hagrid asked to see one of their lists. 

“Hm, just yer wands left ter get – ah, right, bafor I forget, we still need to get yer birthday present.” Hagrid nudged Harry, who flushed red in embarrassment. 

“Neither of you really have to –“

“We want to.” Cheyenne cut in, giving her best friend a gentle smile, “Harry, you deserve a nice gift, especially after having to deal with those foul relatives of yours’.” She looked back up at Hagrid, “Aren’t we allowed to bring an animal to Hogwarts with us? What kinda animal should we get?”

“Tell yeh what, if yeh get Harry his animal, I’ll get yeh yours’, Cheyenne.” Hagrid held up a hand to stop her when she started to protest, “It’s only fair. Neither o’ yeh would like toads, they went outta fashion years ago and yeh’d both be laughed at – I don’t like cats, they make me sneeze. We’ll get yeh owls. All kids want ‘em, they’re dead useful, can deliver yer mail an’ everything.”

Eeylops Owl Emporium was a large, dimly lit shop full of strange, but beautiful, creatures peering out at them from every dark corner with flickering, jewel like eyes. It didn’t take either Harry or Cheyenne long to pick out what owls they wanted and they left the shop twenty minutes later, each now carrying a large cage; in the one Harry carried was a beautiful snowy owl, while Cheyenne had a handsome tawny, both of them fast asleep with their heads tucked under their wings. Cheyenne had to reassure Harry a few times that it had been no trouble before he finally stopped thanking her so much.

“Just got Ollivanders left now.” Hagrid said, leading the way to their final shop, “Only place ter get a wand, Ollivanders, and yeh’d both better bet you’ll have the best wands.” 

Harry and Cheyenne exchanged an excited smile at the thought of finally getting their wands, one of the things they’d both been looking forward to the most their entire trip.

Their final stop was at a narrow, shabby shop, which was dubbed Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. by the peeling gold letters just above the door. Through the dust that coated the front window, there was a rather plain display, as compared to the other shops, of a single wand laid out on a faded purple cushion. 

The distant tinkle of a bell was the only thing that greeted the trio as they stepped inside, a somewhat eerie sound as it floated out to them from the depths of the otherwise quiet shop. The front room itself was tiny, with the only furniture being a single, spindly chair set up in the corner, which Hagrid sat in to wait. Cheyenne set her stuff down and examined the thousands of narrow boxes that lined the walls, stacked into neat piles that reached the ceiling. A strange energy seemed to electrify the air, prickling at the hair on the back of her neck, the dusty silence almost seeming to whisper of some kind of secret magic neither she nor Harry were yet old enough to understand.

“Good afternoon,” a soft voice said from behind them, making Harry and Cheyenne jump as a loud crunching sound came from the corner. The two friends whirled around to find the source of the voice as Hagrid hurriedly got off the spindly chair.

Standing before them was an old man with wide, silver eyes that shone through the gloom like moonlight cutting through the night.

“E-er, hello…” Harry greeted awkwardly.

“Ah yes,” The man stepped closer to Harry and Cheyenne, a mysterious smile playing on his lips as he looked the two of them over, “Yes, yes, I thought I’d be seeing the two of you soon. Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power.” Harry and Cheyenne looked at one another, then back at the man, “You have your mother’s eyes, Harry, and Cheyenne’s as beautiful as hers’. It seems only yesterday they were both in here themselves, buying their first wands. Lily’s was ten and a quarter inches long, a swishy willow that worked well for charms. Iris, however, seemed to do well with a 10-inch wand made of dark walnut. Hers’ was strong, sturdy, best used for Transfiguration.”

Mr. Ollivander stepped closer to the two and Cheyenne moved closer to Harry, uncomfortable. While intriguing, his eyes were rather creepy when he didn’t blink like he should. 

“Your fathers’ wand choices were quite intriguing as well. James seemed to favor a pliable, eleven-inch mahogany. It could match Iris’ wand in power and stamina when it came to transfiguration work. Mark’s was more flexible; 10-and-a-half-inch dogwood. Best used for potion making. They both seemed quite attached to their wands – but, then, it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, you know.

Mr. Ollivander was now so close that he almost loomed over both Harry and Cheyenne, who could see themselves reflected in each of his misty eyes. 

“And this is where…”

Lifting one hand, Mr. Ollivander pressed his long, white index finger to the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead. 

“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that caused this,” He murmured regretfully, glancing at the pattern on Cheyenne’s cheek, “Both of them. Thirteen-and-a-half inches it was, made of yew…it was a very powerful wand put into the wrong hands…if only I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…”

Shaking his head as he took a step back, Mr. Ollivander finally spotted Hagrid.

“Rubeus Hagrid, how nice it is to see you again. You had a bendy, sixteen-inch wand, right?”

“Yes, sir.” Hagrid smiled quietly.

“Ah, that one was a good wand…but then, I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled, didn’t they?’ Mr. Ollivander quirked a brow, his tone becoming a bit sterner.

“Erm, yes…yes they did…” Hagrid glanced away sadly, shuffling his feet, “But I’ve still got the pieces.” He added with a bright smile.

“You don’t use them though, do you?” Mr. Ollivander responded sharply.

“No, sir.” Hagrid confirmed quickly. Cheyenne cocked her head when she noticed his grip tighten on the pink umbrella he was holding and she glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye. He smiled faintly in return, silently promising to explain later. 

“Hm mm,” Mr. Ollivander gave Hagrid a long, stern look before turning back to Harry and Cheyenne, “Well then, enough of that, let’s see what we can find for the two of you.” Digging into his pocket, he produced a long tape measure with silver markings, “Which are your wand arms?”

“We’re both right-handed.” Cheyenne told him. Mr. Ollivander nodded and motioned her forward before he had her hold out her arm so he could measure her, starting from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and around her head. 

“Every Ollivander wand that’s been made contains the core of one powerful magical substance,” Mr. Ollivander said as he moved onto measuring Harry now, “My family has always used unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and dragon heartstrings. No two Ollivander wands are quite the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are the same. And, of course, if either of you were ever to use another witch or wizard’s wand, neither of you would get quite as good a result out of it.”

“uh, Chey…a little help?” Harry nudged Cheyenne, who looked away from where Mr. Ollivander flitted around the shelves gathering boxes. She had to do a double-take when she noticed the tape measure, which was now measuring between Harry’s nostrils, was doing it of its’ own accord. 

“That will do,” Mr. Ollivander said; the tape measure immediately stopped and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. “Right then, Miss Power, let’s start with you.” He handed Cheyenne a wand with a smile, “eleven-inch oak with a phoenix feather center. Just give it a little wave.”

Cheyenne exchanged an uncertain look with Harry, who gave her a small, encouraging smile, before she raised the wand, only for Mr. Ollivander to snatch it back almost at once. 

“No, try this one. Seven-and-a-half inches, pine, with unicorn hair. A sturdy wand. Go on.” 

Cheyenne had barely moved before this, too, was snatched from her hand. 

“Hm, not quite that one, either.” Mr. Ollivander checked the different boxes in his hands before he took a new wand out and offered it to her, “This one is a beech and unicorn hair wand, ten-and-a-quarter inches. Flexible, just like your fathers’.”

A strange kind of energy seemed to fill her as soon as her fingertips touched the wood, an empowering energy that made her sure she could take on anything. Gripping the wand lightly in her fingers, she gave it the simplest flick of her wrist; an orb of light emitted from the wand tip and shot across the room, hitting the discarded tape measure on the ground and sending it sailing out of sight into the depths of the shop. Mr. Ollivander watched with interest as Hagrid gave a low, impressed whistle. 

“Hm.” The shop owner hummed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips with interest. Cheyenne handed the wand back for him to put back into its box and wrap it up before he turned his attention to Harry. She took her package and stepped back to give them room now, curious about the type of wand her best friend would get. She had no doubt the search for his wand would be far for interesting than hers’ had been, and she would be very much correct.

Unlike the three it took for Cheyenne to find hers, it took almost a couple dozen tries to find Harry’a perfect match; Mr. Ollivander seemed to give him almost every combination of wand he had before he would snatch it abruptly back and add it to the growing pile accumulating on the spindly chair. Although, instead of a growing frustration as more and more wands were proven incompatible, Mr. Ollivander almost seemed rather excited at the challenge as he bustled about pulling more wands from the shelves. 

“Quite the tricky customer, aren’t you?” Mr. Ollivander beamed, ecstatic, “Not to worry, though, we will find you the perfect match here somewhere…” He trailed off then, suddenly thoughtful, “Hmm, I do wonder…yes, perhaps it might work, even if it is a bit of an unusual combination…” He shuffled into the back of the shop and returned a moment later with another wand, which he offered to Harry, “Try this one, Mr. Potter. It’s a holly and phoenix feather wand, eleven inches. Nice and supple.”

Harry glanced at Cheyenne, a bit apprehensive, but she gave him an encouragingly smile, prompting him to turn back to the shopkeeper and take the wand. Warmth spread up his hand from his fingertips, causing the hair on his forearm and the back of his neck to stand on end again. Raising the wand above his head, he brought it swishing down through the thick, dusty air; the wand tip threw out a long stream of red and gold sparks, reminding Cheyenne of the sparklers she and Harry used to play with as little kids, her eyes wide as she watched spots of light dance along the walls. Hagrid gave a loud, celebratory whoop and clapped while Mr. Ollivander beamed, “Oh, bravo! Oh yes, that was marvelous. My, how curious, though…how very curious…”

Harry and Cheyenne looked at one another as Mr. Ollivander took the wand back to wrap it back up in its’ box well, all the while still muttering the word ‘curious’ under his breath.

“Excuse me, sir?” Cheyenne cleared her throat to gain his attention again, “Sorry to interrupt your train of thought…but what’s curious about this?”

Mr. Ollivander gazed at Cheyenne and Harry for a long moment, mentally contemplating before he spoke. 

“I remember every wand I have ever sold, Mr. Potter, Miss Power. Every single wand. And it just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather resides in Mr. Potter’s wand, gave another feather – just one other. I find it very curious indeed that he should be destined for this wand when its’ brother…gave you both those scars.”

A hand flew to Cheyenne’s mouth and her eyes stretched wide in surprise as Harry swallowed thickly. Mr. Ollivander nodded slowly.

“Yes…thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. It is very curious indeed how these things happen. Never forget that the wand chooses the witch or wizard that wields it…I think we shall be expecting great things from you, Mr. Potter…He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things himself…terrible, yes, but great.”

Cheyenne looked worriedly at her best friend, putting a hand on his arm as he shivered, staring uneasily at Mr. Ollivander. She frowned, knowing how uncomfortable he must be. It was a relief when they were able to leave, after they both paid Mr. Ollivander seven gold Galleons for their wands. 

The sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Cheyenne followed Hagrid through Diagon Alley and back through the wall into the Leaky Cauldron, which was empty by the time they returned. Harry was quiet as they headed back out onto the Muggle street, so deep in thought he barely registered the stares they got from passers-by and the other Underground passengers on the subway. Cheyenne didn’t bother him, knowing when her best friend was quiet like this it was best to leave him be to sort it out. They got off at Paddington station and went above ground again, arriving just outside the train station. Hagrid tapped Harry’s shoulder.

“Got time to get a bite ter eat before yer train leaves.” He told them, nodding to the burger place just inside. He bought both Harry and Cheyenne a plain burger and they sat down at a small table together to eat. Harry watched the people walk past them, still in his own world. Cheyenne ate slowly, watching him out of the corner of her eye, knowing he must be feeling a bit overwhelmed. Her own gaze swept around the station, finding her mind wandering. After their day in Diagon Alley everything seemed…different somehow. The everyday lives of those around them, the world they’d once known seemed rather dull, unexciting. Maybe it was just the idea that there was another world they would soon be a part of, a world full of new possibilities and things to explore. The idea that magic actually existed just made the normal world extraordinarily boring all of the sudden. 

“You two all right?” Hagrid’s voice broke through their thoughts, drawing Harry and Cheyenne’s attention to him once more. Cheyenne glanced up, then at Harry, who was watching his hands quietly, still deep in thought.

“Everyone things I’m special,” he said after a moment, glancing up, “All those people in the Leaky Cauldron Chey and I met…Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander…they were excited to meet Chey, too, but…Mr. Ollivander, what he said…I don’t know anything about magic at all. How can they possibly expect great things from me? I’m famous…we both are,” He indicated to Cheyenne, who put a hand on his arm gently, “And yet neither of us can even remember what we’re famous for. Neither of us know what happened the night Vol – sorry, I mean…the night we lost our parents…”

Hagrid gave Harry a empathic look, his eyes gentle, his eyebrows arched and mouth turned up in a kind smile as he leaned across the table.

“Don’t you worry none, Harry. You and Cheyenne’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginnin’ at Hogwarts, so you’ll both be just fine. Just be yerselves.” He pat Harry on the head, “I know it’s hard, since yeh’ve both been singled out, that always makes things more difficult. But I know yeh’ll both have a great time at Hogwarts – I know I did – and I still do, ‘smatter of fact.”

Harry looked up at the giant quietly, then at Cheyenne, who smiled reassuringly, nudging him gently, “Hey, we’ve gotten through everything else together, haven’t we? This won’t be any different. We will get through this the same way.” She took his hand, “Together.”

Harry smiled quietly and nodded in agreement. When they were finished with their food, Hagrid helped the two get onto the train that would take them back to Little Whinging. Before they were due to depart, however, he handed them an envelope.

“Yer tickets fer Hogwrats.” He explained when they looked at him with raised eyebrows, “Yer ter catch the train at King’s Cross station in London on the first o’ September. All the information is on your tickets. Harry, if yeh have any problems with the Dursleys, yeh can send me a letter with yer or Cheyenne’s owl, they’ll know where to find me…I’ll see yeh both soon.”

Cheyenne gave Hagrid a quick hug before she and Harry jumped onto the train as it was starting to pull out of the station. The pair rushed back to their seats, wanting to wave to Hagrid until they couldn’t see him anymore, but by the time they’d reached the window, he’d already disappeared. 


	4. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

The final month leading up to their departure for school Harry spent mostly on Wisteria Walk with Cheyenne and Arabella at their home; since their meeting with Hagrid and his pink umbrella the night he had come to rescue Harry, the Dursleys were nastier than they had been before, something Cheyenne hadn’t thought could have been possible. Although it was quite amusing to watch Dudley turn and run the other way whenever he saw either of them and it was a relief Harry didn’t get locked in his cupboard anymore, or even forced to do anything he didn’t want, his aunt and uncle had taken to completely ignoring him whenever he was home. This was a significant improvement to how he was usually treated, although Cheyenne knew it did depress her best friend after a while. Who wouldn’t be depressed being ignored by your family like that? 

It was because of this that Harry was often encouraged to stay over the Figg household, where Arabella allowed him to keep his new school equipment and owl upstairs in Cheyenne’s room with her granddaughter’s own things. The pair spent most of their time in Cheyenne’s room, pouring over their new books and practicing spells together until late into the night while their owls swooped in and out of the window as they pleased. When they’d both been thinking of names for their new pets, Harry and Cheyenne had come across a few in _A History of Magic_ ; he’d named his snowy owl Hedwig, and she had named the tawny owl, Elon. And every night before they turned in, one of them would cross another day off the calendar Cheyenne had hanging on the back of her bedroom door, eagerly counting down the days until September 1st.

As August was coming to an end, Harry and Cheyenne started talking about how they were going to get to London to catch their train at King’s Cross station, knowing Arabella didn’t have a drivers’ license, let alone a car. Harry suggested asking the Dursleys, but it was quickly decided they would only be used as a last resort as Arabella pointed out both their bikes had racks on them they could put their trucks and owl cages on so they could bike to the local station and catch a train into London. Harry and Cheyenne quite liked that idea, especially since they knew Arabella would be able to walk them to the station and take their bikes home afterward when they left. Plus it would give her the chance to see Cheyenne off and say a proper goodbye until the following summer. 

Like most of the rest of that month, Harry spent the night, although Cheyenne did take him back to number 4 Privet Drive to say goodbye to his aunt and uncle. Neither of them seemed bothered by the idea that it would be about nine months before they saw their nephew again, so the goodbyes were brief and the duo were back on Wisteria Walk not even ten minutes later. The rest of that day was spent in Cheyenne’s room, packing their supplies and double checking their Hogwarts lists to be sure they had everything before dinner. Their final night was spent watching movies in the living room with Arabella before she sent them up to bed around nine to get some sleep, knowing they would be so excited about the next morning that they would be up early. 

Arabella was right, of course: Harry and Cheyenne were both awake around five o’clock the following morning and so wired with a mix of excitement and nervous energy that neither could even think of going back to sleep. Having already decided to wait to put on their wizard’s robes until they were on the train to school, they dressed in a pair of jeans and t-shirt each, double-checked their school lists to be sure they had everything packed, shut Hedwig and Elon safely in their individual cages, and then set about trying to find something to do until Arabella woke. Since neither could concentrate long enough to play a game or pay attention to what might be on the telly, Harry took to pacing the length of the room while Cheyenne watched him from her desk chair, occasionally voicing aloud some of the questions that filled her head, like what Hogwarts might be like, how it must look, what kind of people they would meet when they were there, etc. 

Arabella awoke a couple hours after they had and made breakfast for the three of them, which included a lot of Harry and Cheyenne’s favorites, as a way of congratulating the two of them and saying goodbye until they returned for the summer holidays. When they were all fed, Arabella helped Harry and Cheyenne bungee cord their trunks and the owl cages onto the back of their bikes, and they headed for Woking Station, where they would catch the 9:15 train into London. 

“I figured you’d both get hungry on the train to Hogwarts, so I packed you a lunch.” Arabella handed Cheyenne a backpack after she and Harry had managed to drag their things aboard; Cheyenne smiled gratefully and shrugged it on, “Now, I want you two to behave yourselves, all right? I don’t want to get any letters saying you’ve gotten into trouble. Be sure to study and do your best in your classes, I want to see good marks!” 

Harry and Cheyenne exchanged an amused look before Cheyenne hugged her grandmother tight, “We’ll do our best, nan, I promise. I’ll miss you.” 

Arabella sighed softly as she hugged Cheyenne back and the young woman could swear, she heard her voice hitch a little when she spoke, “Oh, my girl, I’ll miss you, too…but I’m so very happy and proud of you.” The two pulled a part and Arabella cupped Cheyenne’s cheeks, kissing her forehead, “You promise me you’ll send me a letter with that owl of yours’ every now and again, all right? I want to hear all about your adventures.” 

“I promise, nan.” Cheyenne squeezed her grandmother’s hands and kissed her cheek gently as one of the train conductors called for passengers to board. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Cheyenne. Now hurry, you two don’t want your luggage to leave without you.” Arabella quickly ushered Harry and Cheyenne onto the train, squeezing her granddaughter’s hand one last time before the door closed behind her. Cheyenne hurried to their seats and leaned out the window to wave as the train began to pull away from the station, watching Arabella fade into the distance before she pulled herself back to sit next to Harry. He smiled reassuringly at her and squeezed her hand in his, knowing being away from her grandmother was going to be more difficult than she was willing to admit aloud. 

From a very young age, Cheyenne had always had an independent and responsible kind of personality, which, Harry was fairly sure, was due to how she was raised and what was expected of her growing up. No one could ever say Arabella had come close to treating Cheyenne the way the Dursleys treated Harry, but Cheyenne had had her own set of responsibilities in the house, which not only included chores and her schoolwork, but care of their cats and, at times, her grandmother as well. Arabella was more than capable of caring for herself and her granddaughter, but she was getting on in her years and often required assistance with tasks, especially when she was injured. Harry had no doubt Arabella’s recent recovery still plagued his best friend’s mind and she was worried about having to leave her grandmother alone to go to school. She was just as excited about this new opportunity as he was, but that still didn’t make her worry about Arabella any less. 

“She’ll be all right, Chey, you know your nan’s tough. She’ll be able to take care of herself, and, if you miss her too much, you can write her a letter. I’m sure she’ll be happy to get them.” Harry smiled as she turned to him; she smiled quietly in agreement and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I know…it’s just gonna take some time to get used to being away from nan for so long. But at least we have something to look forward to going to this new school, all the things we’re going to learn, the things we’ll see. And, we won’t have to deal with Dudley anymore.”

“A definite added bonus.” Harry chuckled as they looked out the window, watching the town fly by. Cheyenne hummed her agreement under her breath, hoping that going to an all new school, especially without their childhood bully there to dog their every step, would be beneficial enough for the two of them that they would better be able to fit in and maybe make some new friends for themselves. 

The pair fell into a comfortable silence for a time, absorbed in their own thoughts, neither really feeling the need to fill it with chatter as they just enjoyed one another’s company. The trip overall took a little less than an hour, between them having to switch trains at Clapham Junction, get off at Victoria Station, then catch a subway car to King’s Cross & St. Pancras International before they reached their destination at around 10:07. It was quite the relief for both of them when they were able to get their hands on a couple of trolleys and wheel their trunks into the station. 

“Okay.” Cheyenne huffed as she brushed a few stray strands of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear, “So, where are we supposed to go from here?”

Harry fished in his jeans and pulled out the envelope Hagrid had given them to take out their tickets. 

“It says we need to catch the Hogwarts Express here on platform nine and three-quarters.” 

“Okay, so let’s –“Cheyenne came up short as her best friend’s words registered in her head and she leaned over to look at their tickets, pinching her eyebrows; right there, clear as daylight, the ticket read: _Hogwarts Express, Kings’ Cross Station, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, 11 o’clock AM._ “What in the world…? There’s no such thing as a platform nine and three-quarters…is there?” She looked up at Harry, who was looking up and down the rows, reading the big plastic signs hung over each platform. One of them had a big plastic number nine over it, while the one next to it was dubbed with a big plastic number ten. And, right between them, was nothing at all. Cheyenne chewed her lip and eyed the walls separating each platform, wondering if perhaps Hagrid had forgotten to tell them how exactly they were supposed to get to platform nine and three-quarters. It had to be hidden, just like Diagon Alley, she was sure of it…after all, if there was a whole hidden world of magic, there _had_ to be a platform nine and three-quarters, right?

Other travelers were beginning to take notice of Harry and Cheyenne now thanks to Hedwig and Elon, casting the pair funny looks as they passed while they tried to figure out what to do; although it seemed the most logical option, they decided, after a quick glance around, that they shouldn’t try to flag down any of the train station staff since none of them looked as though they knew a thing about magic or the wizarding world. There had to be something they could do or someone around here who would be able to help them, there was absolutely no way the two of them were the only witch and wizard at King’s Cross station today; there had to be other wizarding families nearby, parents seeing their kids to the train to school, Harry and Cheyenne just had to keep an eye out for anyone that looked unusual or any kids around their ages that had trunks or owls like theirs’.

“Do you think we should try tapping the inspector’s stand with one of our wands?” Harry whispered, nodding to the ticket stand set up between platforms nine and ten; Cheyenne chewed her bottom lip, unsure, and glanced at the large clock above the arrivals board, which now read quarter to eleven. 

“I suppose we could try it…” She conceded, somewhat pensively, taking the chance to survey their surroundings to be sure no one was watching as Harry searched through his trunk for his wand. As Cheyenne’s gaze swept the station, a group of people passed behind her and Harry, drawing her attention. 

The group looked to be comprised of a plump woman with her five, fiery haired children. The four boys were each rolling a cart with trunks identical to the ones Harry and Cheyenne had, and one of them had an owl!

“Harry!” Cheyenne grabbed his arm to get his attention and pointed after the group; Harry looked up from his things and his eyes widened, “C’mon, we have to follow them!”

The pair hurriedly pushed their carts after the family and paused when they did, keeping enough space between them that they didn’t intrude, yet still close enough to hear what they were saying. 

“Now, what’s the platform number again?” The woman asked, looking at each of the boys.

“Nine and three-quarters!” The young girl holding her hand piped up, looking up at her mother with wide, doe-like eyes, “Mom, can’t I go, too?” 

“You’re not old enough yet, Ginny, now be quiet, dear.” The woman indicated to who looked like the eldest of the boys to come forward, taking a quick look around as she did, “All right, Percy, you’re first.” 

Straightening his shoulders and puffing his chest proudly, the young man marched briskly toward the wall dividing platforms nine and ten. Both Harry and Cheyenne did their best to keep their eyes on him and watch carefully so they wouldn’t miss what he did, but, unfortunately, just as the boy neared the barrier between the platforms, a large crowd of tourists swarmed before them, blocking their view. By the time the last bag had been moved, the boy had disappeared. 

“Fred, you’re next.” The plump woman was now speaking to a pair of identical twins. 

“I’m not Fred, I’m George.” The boy huffed, indignant, “Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? You can’t even tell us apart?” 

“Sorry, George, dear.” 

“Only joking.” The boy turned his cart toward the barrier and grinned devilishly at his mother, “I am Fred.” Cheyenne stifled a giggle as the boy walked briskly forward; it looked like she and Harry were going to have very interesting classmates at school. She would have to see if she couldn’t find Fred later and strike up a conversation. His mother, though, was shaking her head with a somewhat exasperated look on her face, although Cheyenne didn’t miss the bemused twinkle in her eyes as the boy’s twin called for him to hurry. A second later, Fred vanished, too. But how…?

The third brother was now walking briskly toward the barrier, but then, when he was only inches from it, he disappeared as well. Harry and Cheyenne looked at one another, amazed. 

“Excuse us.” Cheyenne called out to the woman, smiling sheepishly when she and her youngest children turned; the youngest boy, a tall, thin, gangly youth that still needed to grow into his hands, feet, and long nose, looked about her and Harry’s age. “Pardon us for intruding…”

“Hello, dears.” The woman gave the pair a warm smile, “First years, hm? Ron’s just starting at Hogwarts, too.” She indicated her youngest son, who nodded. Harry gave him a brief nod in return as Cheyenne inclined her head and gave a polite smile.

“Yes, erm…well,” Harry looked at Cheyenne before turning back to the woman, “The thing is, uh, neither Chey nor I really know how to –“He indicated toward the barrier. The woman’s expression softened in understanding and Cheyenne felt herself relaxing at the kind expression on her face, her smile causing the corners of her eyes to wrinkle. It reminded her of Arabella’s eyes and the laugh lines that often appeared when she smiled. 

“How to get onto the platform?” She finished kindly as Harry and Cheyenne nodded. She put a gentle hand on Cheyenne’s shoulder and squeezed reassuringly, “Oh, not to worry, dears, it’s very simple.” She turned toward the barrier and pointed, “Now, all you have to do is walk straight at that barrier between platforms nine and ten. The important thing is not to stop and not to be scared of crashing. Always best to do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous.” She gently steered Cheyenne forward, “Why don’t the two of you go on now, before Ron, it might help.” 

Cheyenne glanced back at her best friend, who gave her an encouraging smile, “I’ll be right behind you, Chey.” He promised; she nodded as she turned to face the barrier again, intimidated by how…very solid it looked in that moment. 

_(Remember, just keep going and don’t stop, I won’t crash…I hope…)_ Cheyenne gulped and then took a deep breath as she started to walk forward. People rushed past her, jostling her from either side on their way to platforms nine and ten. She started to pick up her pace, slow at first, then steadily getting faster; images of her crashing into the barrier flashed across her mind and a voice yelled at her in the back of her mind she was going to get herself into trouble. Distinctly, she could hear Harry yell after her to stop, but she was going too fast and the barrier was too close; she couldn’t tell if the trembling in her hands was from her trolley or from her own fear now. She bent over the handlebars and clenched her eyes, bracing herself. 

But…there was no crash…she started to slow, going from a run to a jog, then a quick walk, and finally, a stop, as she opened her eyes. 

Before her sat a large, scarlet steam engine, parked alongside a platform packed with people; a sign hanging from the ceiling dubbed the train the Hogwarts’ Express, due to leave at eleven o’clock. Cheyenne stared, transfixed, for a moment, before she whirled around to look behind her, finding a large wrought-iron archway in place of the barrier from before, with a plaque that read Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. She’d made it…

 _(Harry…)_ Cheyenne’s gaze fell to the spot she’d come through and she chewed her lip, hoping her best friend would have the same burst of courage to get through the barrier, just as she had. _(I know you can do it, Harry…please…it isn’t hard…you **can** do it.) _

As though he could read her encouraging thoughts, Harry suddenly appeared through the wrought-iron archway; Cheyenne started to smile, but it quickly faded when she noticed he had his eyes screwed tightly shut…and he wasn’t slowing down!

“Harry!” She moved her trunk out of the way and braced herself to stop him, planting her feet and putting her hands out to catch his trolley as he came closer; her voice jolted him and Harry’s eyes snapped open, meeting hers’. He started to slow, trying to stop himself before he crashed into her; she caught the edge of his trunk and stumbled back a couple of feet before Harry finally managed to get his trolley under control. His eyes were wide as he searched her face, but she smiled reassuringly, reaching out to put a hand on his arm, “It’s okay, Harry, it’s okay. We made it!” She beamed, indicating the platform around them, “We’re on platform nine and three-quarters!”

Harry stared around the platform with the same, wide-eyed amazement Cheyenne was sure she was displaying herself. Smoke wafted out of the train engine, drifting out over the heads of the crowd and intermingling with the cocktail of excited chatter, call of cats and disgruntled owls and the scrape of heavy trunks being dragged across the platform. 

“C’mon, let’s find seats.” Cheyenne grabbed her trolley and led the way through the crowd, bypassing the first few carriages since they were already packed with students, some of whom were leaning out the window to talk to their family while others fought over seats. The pair passed a young, round-faced boy along the way, catching a snip of his conversation with his grandmother on their way past, “Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.” 

“Oh, _Neville_ …” They heard the woman sigh before they were out of earshot. Further along, they noticed a crowd gathered around a boy with dreadlocks, who was holding a medium sized box in his arms. 

“Give us a look, Lee, go on.”

The boy grinned and lifted the lid of the box, causing the crowd around him to shriek and yell as whatever was inside poked out one long, hairy leg. Cheyenne felt an uncomfortable shiver skitter down her spine and she quickly turned away as she and Harry pressed on through the crowd.

Finally spotting an empty compartment near the back of the train, Harry and Cheyenne set Hedwig and Elon inside first before they tried to drag their trunks, one at a time, toward the train door. That, though, was the easy part…now trying to get their trunks up the steps was going to be tricky…they’d had a difficult enough time just trying to get it on and off the trains getting into London and they knew they were probably going to have to muscle them onto the Hogwarts Express now, too. More than once they dropped them on each of their feet. 

“Hey, you two want a hand?” A voice asked as Cheyenne quickly moved her trunk off Harry’s foot, giving her best friend an apologetic smile before turning to find the owner, seeing it was one of the red-haired twins they’d followed through the barrier. 

“Yes, we would, please.” She smiled gratefully at the young man, who nodded, then turned to call over his shoulder.

“Oy, Fred! C’mere!”

With the twins’ help, Harry and Cheyenne were able to carry their trunks onto the train and tuck them into the overhead luggage rack in their compartment.

“Thank you so much, we really appreciate the help.” Cheyenne beamed at the twins and tucked a stray strand of hair out of her face as Harry swept his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. One of the twins, she thinks was Fred, started to smile in return before she noticed him focus on something on her cheek.

“What’s that?” He cocked his head, pointing to the oddly shaped cluster of scars under her right eye; Cheyenne immediately put a hand to her cheek, feeling her face heat up as she quickly ducked her head. 

“Blimey,” His twin, George, breathed, having noticed the lightning shaped scar on Harry’s forehead “Are you two -?”

“They are,” Fred looked at Cheyenne, who peeked up from under her bangs shyly, “Aren’t you?” 

“What?” Harry frowned, looking between them.

“Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power,” the twins chorused.

“Oh, right, them…” Harry sighed. “I mean, yeah, we’re them.” 

The boys gawked at the pair and Cheyenne felt her blush deepen as Harry slowly reddened, too. It was at that moment, though, much to their relief, that a voice floated in through the open train door. 

“Fred? George? Are you there?”

“Coming, Mom.” George called, glancing over his shoulder as he left the compartment; Fred kept Cheyenne’s gaze for a moment longer, looking as though he wanted to say something, but then decided better of it and followed his twin. 

Exchanging a quiet look, Harry and Cheyenne took the seats by the window where, half-hidden, they could watch the red-haired family talking out on the platform. The boys’ mother was just taking a handkerchief out of her bag and reaching for her youngest son. 

“Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.” She grabbed the boy before he could jerk out of the way and began to rub the end of his nose.

“Mom – _geroff!”_ He growled, wiggling free.

“Ah, has ickle Ronnie got sometin on his nosie?” Fred teased in a voice most adults would use when talking to infants. 

“Shut up.” Ron grumbled, disgruntled. 

“Where’s Percy?” Their mother asked, looking around as she tucked her handkerchief back into her bag. 

“Here he comes now.” 

The eldest of the boys came striding toward them with the same dignified walk he’d used when he’d gone through the barrier, already wearing his billowing black Hogwarts robes. Harry and Cheyenne couldn’t help but notice the shiny silver badge with a capital **P** on it pinned to his chest. 

“I can’t stay long, Mother.” He said briskly once he’d reached the group, “I’m due up front with the other prefects, we’ve got two compartments to ourselves –“

“Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?” Fred gasped, as though he’d been taken by surprise. “Why, you really should have said something, we had absolutely no idea!” Cheyenne had to press a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. 

“Hang on,” George cocked his head and rubbed his chin, “I think I do remember him saying something about it once –“ 

“Or twice –“ 

“A minute –“

“All summer –“ 

“Oh, shut up.” Percy scowled at the twins as Cheyenne was giggling into her hand and Harry was fighting a smile. 

“How come Percy got new robes this term, anyway?” Fred huffed. 

“Because he’s a prefect,” their mother smiled fondly at the eldest boy. “All right, dear, I won’t keep you. Have a good term and be sure to send me an owl once you’re all settled in.” 

She kissed Percy’s cheek and he disappeared back into the crowd while she turned her attention to the twins once more. 

“Now, you two, I want you both to behave yourselves this year. If I get even one owl telling me you’ve – you’ve blown up a toilet or –“ 

“Blown up a toilet?” George cocked his head, “We’ve never blown up a toilet.”

“That is a great idea, though.” Fred grinned, “Thanks, Mom.” 

“That is not funny.” Their mother frowned, stern, “And you two be sure to look after Ron.” 

“Don’t worry, Mom, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us.”

“Shut up,” Ron huffed, crossing his arms. Despite him being younger than they were, he was already almost as tall as the twins; his nose was still pink from when his mother had rubbed it. 

“Hey, Mom, guess what?” Fred turned his attention back to his mother, excited, “Guess who we just met on the train.” 

Harry and Cheyenne looked at one another and sank down in their seats to avoid being seen. 

“You know those pair of kids that were near us in the station, the black-haired boy and the dirty blond-haired girl? Know who they were?” 

“Who?”

“Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power!”

Harry and Cheyenne were sure the excited squeal that followed this had come from the little girl. 

“Oh, Mom, can I go on the train and see them? Mom, please…?”

“You’ve already seen them, Ginny, and those poor kids aren’t something you can oogle at in a zoo.” Her mother told her firmly before turning back to her son, “Are they really, Fred? How do you know?”

“Asked them, saw their scars. They’re really there, like lightning and stars.” 

“Poor dears.” The woman frowned, “It’s no wonder they were alone…and they were ever so polite when they asked how to get onto the platform.”

“Never mind that, do you think either of them remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?” 

Their mother pressed her lips together into a thin, white line, looking at the twins sternly.

“I forbid you to ask either of them such a thing, Fred. No, don’t you dare.” She poked him in the chest, “Neither of them needs to be reminded of something like that on their first day of school.” 

“All right, all right, keep your hair on.” Fred sighed as the whistle sounded. 

“Oh, hurry!” their mother quickly ushered the three boys onto the train and closed the door behind them; they leaned out the window to kiss her goodbye while their little sister started to cry.

“Oh, don’t cry, Ginny, we’ll be sure to send you loads of owls.” Fred smiled reassuringly at the young girl.

“Yeah, along with a Hogwarts toilet seat, too.” 

“George!” 

“I was only joking, Mom.” George chuckled as the train began to pull away from the station. Harry and Cheyenne watched the boys’ mother wave after them while their sister, now half laughing, half crying, was running to try and keep up with the train, but it soon gathered too much speed and she fell behind, waving, too. The pair watched until both the woman and her daughter disappeared round the corner, then turned to look at one another as houses whizzed by the window, feeling their hearts leap in their chests with excitement. Even if they didn’t know exactly what they were headed toward, they knew it had to better than the life they were leaving behind. 

It was at that moment that the door of the compartment slid open and the two noticed the youngest of the ginger-haired brothers poke his head in. 

“Is anyone sitting there?” He indicated to each of the empty seats beside Harry and Cheyenne, “Everywhere else is full.”

“No, no one’s claimed these seats yet.” Cheyenne smiled reassuringly and then got up, “Here, you can take my seat, I’ll sit here.” She took the seat beside Harry as the boy nodded gratefully and sat down. He stole a glance at the pair, then looked quickly out the window, pretending as though he hadn’t been looking. Cheyenne cocked her head, noticing he still had some kind of black mark on his nose. 

Before she could point it out, a voice at the door drew their attention again, “Hey, Ron.” The trio looked up at the twins leaning against the door frame. “Listen, we’re headed down to the middle of the train, Lee Jordan’s got this giant tarantula we want to see.” 

“Right…” Ron mumbled as the twins turned to Harry and Cheyenne now.

“Hey, we never did introduce ourselves, did we?” Fred smiled at the two, “Fred and George Weasley. This is our younger brother, Ron.” He indicated toward the boy sitting across from them, “Hate to run, but we’ll catch up with you two later, all right?” His gaze lingered on Cheyenne as he spoke and she smiled shyly, tucking her hair behind her ear again.

“Bye,” Harry and Ron said together as George nudged Fred and gave his twin a knowing grin before they left, sliding the compartment door shut behind them. 

“Are you two really Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power?” Ron blurted out as soon as they were gone. Harry and Cheyenne looked at one another, then smiled together and nodded. Ron rubbed his neck, suddenly a tad sheepish, “Ah, well, I…I thought it might have been just one of Fred and George’s jokes…and do you both really have…you know…?” He indicated their faces. 

As though they were in sync with one another, Harry and Cheyenne pushed their hair away from their faces to reveal their scars at the same time. Ron stared from one to the other, then back again.

“So, that’s where You-Know-Who…?” He stared at Harry’s scar as he spoke. Harry nodded, letting his bangs fall back into place.

“Yes, Harry seems to have gotten the bulk of the spell…but neither of us can really remember it.” Cheyenne smiled apologetically. 

“Nothing?” Ron leaned toward them eagerly as Harry shook his head, then paused.

“Well…I can remember a lot of green light, but…that’s about it.” He looked at Cheyenne, who nodded her agreement, “That and a laugh, but not much else.” 

“Wow,” Ron breathed, staring at the two for a few moments before, seeming to realize what he was doing, he turned quickly away to look out the window once more. 

“So, are all your family wizards?” Harry asked after a bout of silence, curious to know more about Ron’s family.

“Erm, yes, I think so,” Ron furrowed his brows, as though deep in thought. “I do think Mom’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant, but we don’t really talk about him.” 

“You must know a lot of magic already, then.” Cheyenne smiled, thinking back to what the pale boy in Diagon Alley had told her and Harry about old wizarding families. No doubt the Weasleys had to be one of them. 

“I heard the two of you had to live with Muggles,” Ron answered, his cheeks pink. “What’re they like?”

Harry scrunched his nose at the thought of the Dursleys, “Horrible…well,” He sighed, “Not all of them…Chey’s gran is at least kind enough to help us…but my aunt, uncle, and cousin…”

“They’re just terrible.” Cheyenne put a comforting hand on her best friend’s, squeezing reassuringly as she gave Ron a small smile, “It still would have been cool to grow up with three older brothers, though.”

“Five, actually,” Ron sighed, looking gloomy all of the sudden. “I’m the sixth in our family to get my letter to Hogwarts, so you could say I’ve got a lot to live up to…Bill and Charlie’ve already left – Bill was head boy and Charlie was the captain of the house Quidditch team. Now Percy’s been named a prefect…Fred and George like to mess around a lot and pull pranks, but they still get really good marks and everyone likes them. Everyone expects me to do as well as they did, but even if I do, it wouldn’t be a big deal since they did it first…” He leaned his arm on the arm rest and leaned his head on his knuckles, “Never get anything new either, having five older brothers…I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat…” 

As he spoke, Ron reached into his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was fast asleep. 

“His name’s Scabbers…he hardly ever wakes up, so he’s useless…after he was made a prefect, Percy got an owl from my dad, so we couldn’t afford –“ he broke off, catching himself, his ears turning pink as he turned to look out the window again, “Well…I got Scabbers…”

Cheyenne gave Ron an understanding smile and nudged Harry, inclining her head silently, knowing out of the two of them, he would understand Ron’s situation the best since he’d never had any money of his own until the previous month. Harry smiled quietly at her as he told Ron about how he’d had to live with the Dursleys, telling him about having to wear Dudley’s hand-me-downs and never getting proper birthday presents from any of them. Ron seemed to cheer up a little at the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. 

“…until Hagrid told me about everything, I had no clue about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort –“

Ron inhaled sharply, staring incredulously at Harry, who blinked, “What?” 

“You just said You-Know-Who’s name!” Ron breathed, his voice a mix of shock and awe. “I’d have thought you and Cheyenne, of all people –“

“We aren’t trying to be brave or anything, saying his name.” Harry said quickly, “We just…” he looked at Cheyenne again, “We didn’t know we shouldn’t…but that’s what I mean, we’ve still got loads to learn about this world…” He glanced away now, suddenly unsure. Cheyenne rubbed his hand with her thumb, knowing Harry had been worried about how well they would fit in at this new school since they’d gotten back from Diagon Alley, even more so because of his background. Who wouldn’t be unsure of themselves after just discovering a part of themselves shortly before school started? “I bet I end up as the worst in the class…” 

“You won’t be, Harry.” Ron gave Harry a reassuring smile now, “There are loads of people who come from Muggle families and they all learn quick enough at Hogwarts.”

Cheyenne gave Ron a grateful smile, glad for his added support; as the boys had been talking, the train had carried them out of London and into the farmlands, where fields full of livestock sped past the window. Harry and Ron fell into a comfortable silence, watching the scenery go by as Cheyenne dug a book out of her backpack to read. 

At around half past twelve, a great clattering noise outside in the corridor drew the trio’s attention and they looked up as a middle-aged woman slid their door open, giving them a wide, dimpled smile, “Anything off the trolley, dears?” 

Harry looked at Cheyenne then, his eyes wide in excitement and she stifled a giggle, knowing he would be chuffed at the chance to buy candy where he hadn’t been able to before. Ron, meanwhile, turned pink round the ears again and muttered that he’d brought sandwiches as Harry pulled Cheyenne into the corridor, eager to get his hands on some Mars Bars. She followed him easily, looking forward to having a bit of a treat to go along with their lunch. 

The strangest thing, though, was the woman didn’t seem to have any of the candies they were quite used to, but, rather, a supply of treats neither of them had ever seen in their lives. These included Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, Dooble’s Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes and Licorice Wands, just to name a few. After a quick discussion, the pair decided to get a bit of everything and split the cost, handing the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts. 

Ron watched the two bring their load back into the compartment and tip it onto the one empty seat left with raised eyebrows

“Hungry?”

“Starving.” Harry huffed as he sat down while Cheyenne dug out their own sandwiches, a thermos of green tea and a couple of cups. She handed Harry his food and poured the tea as Ron unwrapped a small, lumpy package, which held four sandwiches. He wrinkled his nose as he pulled one of them apart. 

“She always forgets I don’t like corned beef…” 

“Oh, corned beef, I haven’t had that in ages,” Cheyenne smiled, setting the thermos aside as she held her own sandwiches out to Ron, “Here, I’ll trade you, Ron. Do you like ham?” 

“Oh, you don’t want these, Cheyenne, it’s all dry,” Ron protested, turning pink once more. “She hasn’t got much time to make these, you know, with five of us…” 

“I don’t mind if it’s a little dry, Ron.” She smiled reassuringly, nodding in encouragement as he hesitantly traded her ham sandwiches for his corned beef ones. “And you can just call me Chey, you know.” Ron nodded, giving a small, grateful smile as they tucked into their food. 

“You’re welcome to share our candy, too, Ron. I don’t think Chey and I’ll be able to eat all of it ourselves.” Harry chuckled as Cheyenne nodded, both of them thrilled at being able to share something with another person aside from each other. They’d always shared food in the past with one another since Arabella often packed enough in Cheyenne’s bag for both of them, but they’d never had the chance to share or trade any of what they had with a third party. It felt nice, being able to sit there and eat their lunch before starting in on the pasties, cakes, and candies they’d gotten off the trolley. 

“What are these?” Harry asked as he inspected a pack of Chocolate Frogs while Cheyenne looked over from nibbling a pumpkin pasty.

“They aren’t really frogs…are they?” She furrowed her brows, feeling less and less surprised by the minute. 

“No, they’re just chocolate.” Ron bit into a Licorice Wand, “But see what the card is inside. I’m missing Agrippa.” 

“Huh?” Harry blinked.

“Oh, right, neither of you know.” Ron chuckled, “Chocolate Frogs come with collectable cards of famous witches and wizards. I’ve got about five hundred in my collection now…I’m just missing Agrippa and Ptolemy.” 

Exchanging a look with Cheyenne, Harry took out one of the Chocolate Frogs and unwrapped it; she leaned over to get a look at the card, which depicted a thin, older man donned in deep purple wizarding robes and a matching wizard hat. His expression was kind, giving off a very wise, grandfatherly vibe as he smiled up at the pair of them from behind a pair of half-moon spectacles, perched at the base of his long, crooked nose, and a flowing silver beard/mustache, which matched his long hair. Written underneath the picture in neat cursive was the name Albus Dumbledore. 

“So this is Dumbledore!” Harry looked up as Cheyenne took the card to get a closer look, admiring the detail put into it as she flipped it over to inspect the back, which read:

**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**   
**CURRENT HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS**

_Considered by many to be the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly infamous for such feats as his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work in alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling._

Cheyenne turned the card over once more and was startled to find Dumbledore had disappeared. 

“He’s gone!” She turned to look at Ron, wide-eyed. 

“Well, you can’t just expect him to hang around all day, can you?’ Ron chuckled, “Don’t worry, he’ll be back.” He turned to the card he’d just unwrapped and snorted, “No, I’ve got Morgana again and I’ve already got six of her…do you two want it? You can start collecting, too.”

Ron handed the card to Harry and eyed the pile of Chocolate Frogs on the seat, waiting to be unwrapped.

“Go on and help yourself.” Harry told him with an earnest smile, peering curiously at the card in his hand, “You know, in the Muggle world, people usually just stay put in photos…”

“Do they really?” Ron looked up from unwrapping another Chocolate Frog, “They don’t move at all? That’s so weird!”

Cheyenne smiled, bemused, then glanced back at Dumbledore’s card again, watching as he slid back into frame and smiled up at her. Ron soon turned his attention to the frogs themselves, far more interested in devouring them than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards themselves, but Harry and Cheyenne just couldn’t bring themselves to tear their eyes away. Before long, they had another Dumbledore card, as well as one of Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. After she’d read the back of each card, Cheyenne put them into a pile and tucked them into the front pocket of her backpack for safe keeping while Harry opened up a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. 

“You’ll want to be careful with those.” Ron warned, “When they say every flavor, they mean it – they do have the ordinary flavors, like chocolate, peppermint, and marmalade, but there’s also ones like spinach, liver, and tripe.” He made a face, “George reckons he got a boogie-flavored one once.” 

Digging into the bag, Ron pulled out a light green bean, examined it for a moment, then took a bite out of the corner before reeling back, “Argh…see? Sprouts.” 

The trio took turns trying out the Every Flavor beans and sharing a laugh whenever one of them got a really bad one. They weren’t too bad, thankfully, the worst of the bunch being a dog food flavored one Cheyenne was unfortunate enough to eat, which she washed out of her mouth with a sip of tea. 

While they had their fun, the countryside outside the window had transformed from neatly groomed fields to wild woodlands, winding rivers, and rolling hills. 

Just as they were closing up the bag of jellybeans, there was a knock on the compartment door and it slid open to reveal the round-faced boy Harry and Cheyenne had passed on platform nine and three-quarters. He looked haggard, with wide, tear-filled eyes, his bottom lip trembling sadly.

“Sorry to interrupt…but have any of you seen a toad at all?” 

When they shook their heads, the boy burst into tears, “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

“I’m sure he’ll turn up somewhere.” Cheyenne told him soothingly, putting a reassuring hand on the boy’s arm as she offered him some tissues. He sniffled as he took them and wiped his nose.

“Y-yeah…” he murmured miserably, “Well, if any of you see him…” he left before he could finish his thought while Ron shook his head after him. 

“Don’t know why he’d so bothered over a toad.” He snorted, “If I had one, I’d lose it as quick as I could. ‘Course, I can’t really talk, since I’ve got Scabbers…” 

The rat hadn’t stirred once from where he snoozed in Ron’s lap.

“He might have died and no one would be able to tell the difference.” Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You know, I tried to make him more interesting yesterday by turning him yellow, but the spell didn’t work. Here, I’ll show you.”

Setting Scabbers aside, Ron stood on his seat to rummage through his trunk and plopped back down with his wand in hand; it was very battered-looking, with large chunks of wood missing from the body and something white glinting at the tip. 

“Unicorn hair’s nearly poking out…” Ron frowned, examining the wand briefly before shrugging, “Anyway…”

He’d just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open once more. The boy who was missing his toad had returned, but this time he was accompanied by a girl with thick, curly brown hair and large front teeth. 

“We already told him we haven’t seen his toad.” Ron told her with a scowl; his words were ignored, however, when the girl took notice of the wand in his hand. 

“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.” 

She took a seat beside Cheyenne, who scooted over to make room. Ron looked taken aback, glancing at Harry and Cheyenne.

“Er, all right then.”

He cleared his throat and raised his wand again, “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.” He waved his wand over Scabbers, but there was no visible change to the rat’s appearance, he just stayed gray and still did not stir from his slumber. 

“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” The girl sniffed, “Well, it isn’t very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells myself and they’ve all worked for me.” She sat up proudly and plunged on without giving either Cheyenne or the boys the chance to answer, “Nobody in my family’s magic at all, so it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter. I was pleased, though, of course, I mean, Hogwarts is the very best school of witchcraft there is, you know – I’ve already learned all our course books by heart, so hopefully that will be enough – I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are all of you?”

Harry and Ron looked at one another, stunned and it wasn’t hard to see neither of them had even thought of learning their course books by heart. Cheyenne cocked her head slightly, having read through most of the books herself, impressed by the other girl’s dedication to her schoolwork. 

“I’m Ron Weasley.” Ron muttered.

“Harry Potter,” Harry nodded quietly.

“Cheyenne Power.” Cheyenne smiled timidly in hello. 

“Are you really?’ Hermione looked at Harry and Cheyenne with great interest, “I know all about the two of you, of course – when I went to get my books, I purchased a couple extra for background reading. Did either of you know you’re in _Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century?”_

“Erm, no, we didn’t…” Harry looked at Cheyenne, at a bit of a loss as her eyes lit up.

“Oooh, those books sound fascinating…I really should have thought of picking up a couple extra ones…” She sighed as Hermione nodded her head.

“I highly recommend all of those books, they’re quite good. I am a tad surprise you didn’t pick them up already.” She cocked her head, “If I was in your shoes, I would have found out everything I could.” Cheyenne nodded and rubbed her neck, “Do any of you know which house you’ll be in yet? I’ve been asking around and I’m hoping I’m put in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I’ve even heard Dumbledore was a Gryffindor.” She paused, as though to let that sink in while she hummed thoughtfully, “But, then, I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad, either…Anyway, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad.” She rose briskly to her feet, “You three had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be arriving soon.” 

With those parting words she left, taking the toadless boy with her.

“Whatever house I’m in, I hope she isn’t,” Ron gruffed, stuffing his wand into a pocket of his jacket, “Stupid spell…George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud…” 

“What house are your brothers in?” Harry asked, turning back to Ron.

“Gryffindor.” Ron sighed, gloomy again. “Mom and Dad were in that house, too…dunno what they’d say if I wasn’t put into Gryffindor. I don’t suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but just imagine if they put me in Slytherin.” 

“That was the house Vold –“Cheyenne caught herself and smiled sheepishly, “I mean, You-Know-Who was in, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Ron leaned back into his seat, suddenly looking rather depressed. 

“You know, I think the ends of Scabbers’ whiskers do look a tad lighter,” Harry piped up in an effort to get Ron’s mind off houses. “Oh, what do your oldest brothers do now that they’ve left Hogwarts, anyway?” He cocked his head, curious about what wizards would do once they’d finished school.

“Charlie’s studying dragons abroad in Romania and Bill’s off in Africa working for Gringotts.” Ron sat up a little straighter, seeming to remember something, “Did either of you hear about what happened at Gringotts? It’s been all over the _Daily Prophet_ …but, then, I suppose you wouldn’t get that, living with Muggles – someone tried to rob one of the high security vaults.”

“What?” Harry and Cheyenne stared, astonished, “What happened to them?” 

“Nothing, which is why it’s such big news!” Ron breathed dramatically, “The culprits haven’t been caught. My dad says it must have been one powerful Dark wizard if he was able to get round Gringotts without being caught. No one thinks they took anything either, which is even stranger. ‘Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens, especially if it means You-Know-Who is behind it.” 

Harry and Cheyenne looked at one another, frowning, as they absorbed this information. Both of them were starting to get a little scared and uncomfortable the more You-Know-Who was mentioned; even if it was a part of entering the magical world, both had been a lot more comfortable just saying the name without having to worry about it. 

“Hey, what’re your Quidditch teams?” Ron asked, deciding to change the subject. 

“Erm.” Harry turned sheepishly back to Ron, “We don’t really know any…” 

“What?!” Ron’s mouth fell open as he stared at Harry, dumbfounded, “Oh, just you two wait, it’s the best game in the world –!” Needing no further encouragement, Ron was off, explaining all about the four balls used to play the game and the position of the seven to eight players on each team, telling Harry and Cheyenne all about the famous games he’d gone to see with his family and the broomstick he’d want to get if he had the money. Just as he was getting into the finer points of the game, the compartment door slid open once more, but this time it wasn’t the toadless boy, Neville, or Hermione Granger. 

Instead, three boys stepped into the compartment; Harry and Cheyenne immediately recognized the one in the middle as the pale boy they’d met in Madam Malkin’s robe shop. He stared at the pair of them with piercing grey eyes, a great deal more interested than he had been in Diagon Alley. 

“Is it true?” He looked between the two, “They’re saying all up and down the train that Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power are in this compartment. So, it’s you two, is it?”

“Yes,” Harry frowned, eying the other two boys as Cheyenne shifted subconsciously closer to him; both the boys reminded them eerily of Dudley, although they looked to have less fat and more muscle than their childhood bully and they both looked a great deal meaner than he was. The way they stood on either side of the pale boy, they looked as though they were hired bodyguards…

“Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,” the pale boy introduced, waving a hand in each boys’ direction lazily, having noticed where Harry and Cheyenne were looking. “And I’m Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.” 

Ron coughed into his hand, hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy immediately whirled on him, narrowing his eyes.

“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask yours’. Red hair, freckled, hand-me-down robes, you must be a Weasley. My father did always say they had more children than they could afford.” 

He turned back to Harry and Cheyenne, “You’ll both soon find out some wizarding families are better than others. Neither of you want to go making friends with the wrong sort.” He smirked and held out a hand, “I can help you there.”

Harry and Cheyenne looked down at his offered hand, then up to meet his gaze again.

“I think we’re more than capable of telling who the wrong sort is for ourselves, thank you.” Cheyenne told him coolly, crossing her arms. Draco Malfoy flushed a light pink and narrowed his eyes again.

“I’d be careful if I was either of you,” He drawled after a moment, “Unless you’re a bit politer, you both could end up going the same way as your parents. None of them knew what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that grounds keeper, Hagrid, and it’ll end up rubbing off on you.” 

Both Harry and Ron got to their feet, Ron’s cheeks steadily reddening as Cheyenne gently grabbed at Harry’s sleeve, as though to stop him.

“Say that again,” Ron ground out from between clenched teeth.

“Oh, you’re both going to fight us, are you?” Malfoy sneered, quirking an amused brow.

“Not unless you get out now,” Harry told him, squaring his shoulders, trying to act braver than he felt at that moment, knowing Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him or Ron. 

“But we don’t feel like leaving, do we, boys?” Malfoy crossed his arms and shifted over toward Cheyenne, as though ready to take a seat, “See, we’ve eaten all our food and you three still seem to have some.” 

Goyle had started reaching for the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron as Malfoy spoke and Ron leapt forward to stop him; before he could even touch Goyle, however, the larger boy suddenly let out yell of pain that made everyone else in the compartment jump. The source of his yell quickly became apparent as Goyle swung his arm round; with his sharp front teeth dug deep into his knuckle, Scabbers hung from Goyle’s finger, barely missing Harry and Ron as Goyle swung his arm wildly in an attempt to dislodge him. Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle flailed, howling, and sent Scabbers flying into the window with a faint thud; Cheyenne quickly stooped to make sure the rat was all right while Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle fled, either in fear of finding more rats hidden among the sweets or the sound of approaching footsteps as Hermione Granger reappeared in the doorway. 

“What has been going on?” She asked, taking in the sight of the sweets all over the floor and Cheyenne standing with Scabbers cupped in her hands. 

“Looks like he’s been knocked out.” She said to Ron, who picked Scabbers up by the tail and looked him over before he snorted. 

“No, I don’t believe this, he’s gone back to sleep.”

Cheyenne sighed in relief at knowing the rat was unharmed while Harry picked up the fallen treats. Ron frowned at the two as he put Scabbers back in his jacket. 

“Have you two met Malfoy before?”

Cheyenne told him about how they met him in Diagon Alley.

“I’ve heard of his family.” Ron scowled. “They were some of the first of You-Know-Who’s followers to come back to our side after he disappeared. Told everyone they’d been bewitched, but my dad doesn’t believe any of it. He says Malfoy’s father wouldn’t need any excuse to go to the Dark Side.” He turned to face Hermione, who still stood in the doorway. “Can we help you with something?”

“You three had better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just spoken to the conductor and he says we’re nearly there.” She said briskly, furrowing her brows, “None of you have been fighting, have you? You’ll get yourselves into trouble before we’ve even arrived!” 

“Scabbers was the one fighting, not us,” Ron huffed, scowling at her now. “Now, would you mind leaving so we can change?” 

“All right, I only came down this way because people out here are behaving very immaturely, racing up and down the corridors,” Hermione sniffed, impatient, turning to leave before she paused and turned back to face Ron, “You’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know? Just there.” She pointed to indicate where the dark spot was before she left. Ron wrinkled his nose and glared after her as Harry and Cheyenne peered out the window. The sun had almost completely disappeared behind the western mountains now, turning the horizon a brilliant combination of orange, yellow, and pink while the sky overhead slowly darkened into a blanket of deep purplish blue. The train was losing speed, the grind of the wheels against the tracks slowing. 

The trio got to their feet and Cheyenne turned away from the boys to change, exchanging her muggle clothes for her long black robes; her and Harry’s robes seemed to fit them rather well, but Ron’s appeared a bit short on him, so much so it wasn’t difficult to see his trainers just under the hem. 

A voice came on overhead, echoing throughout the train: “We will be arriving at Hogsmeade station in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be brought up to the school separately.”

Cheyenne could feel her stomach churn uneasily and she automatically reached for Harry’s hand; he squeezed it tightly, looking just as nervous as she felt while Ron had paled under his freckles. Cramming their pockets with the last of the sweets, the trio joined the crowd filling the corridor as the train slowed to a halt. 

Pushing and shoving one another, the crowd surged for the train doors and stepped out onto a tiny, unlit platform. Harry pulled Cheyenne out of the crowd and she leaned into him for warmth, their breathes intermingling in the cold night air. From one end of the platform, they spotted the light of a small lamp come bobbing toward them, suspended high over the heads of the other students, while a familiar voice made their hearts leap. 

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years this way! Yeh all right there, Harry, Cheyenne?” 

The pair tilted their heads back to look up at the large, hairy face beaming down at them from over the crowd and smiled in greetings.

“C’mon, follow me –“He ushered them over before looking out over the students once more, “ – any more firs’ years? Mind yer step now! Firs’ years follow me!” 

Once off the platform itself, the first years followed Hagrid down a steep, narrow path, trying to be mindful of their step as they slipped and stumbled over rocks and dirt they couldn’t quite see. Tall walls of darkness rose up on either side of them, thick forests that likely stretched on for miles in both directions. Nobody spoke much, although there was the occasional sniffle from the boy, Neville, from somewhere behind Ron. 

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a second,” Hagrid called over his shoulder after a stretch of silence, “jus’ round this bend here.” 

A chorus of ‘Oooooh’s!’ rose from the group.

At the edge of the trees, the narrow path opened onto the edge of a great black lake. On the other side of the wide, mirror-like surface, perched atop a high mountain, was a vast, looming castle. From this angle, the group could see a great many turrets and towers that made up the upper portions of the structure, each window aglow with warm, flickering light, which was only further emphasized by the backdrop of the dark, starry sky. 

“No more’n four or five to a boat!” Hagrid called, waving a hand to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water close to shore. Harry, Ron, and Cheyenne were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione. 

“Everyone in?” Hagrid looked over his shoulder, situated in a boat all his own. “Right then – FORWARD!”

As though on cue, the fleet of boats pushed away from the shore and began to glide across the lake, which sat perfectly still, it’s smooth surface a mirror of the nighttime sky. Still, nobody spoke, mesmerized by the image of the great castle slowly drawing nearer as they crossed the expanse of the lake toward the cliff on which it stood. 

“Heads down!” Hagrid’s yell made a few people jump as the first row of boats reached the cliff face; the students all bent their heads down as they were carried through a thick curtain of ivy, which hid a wide, cavern-like opening in the rock, and through a long, dark tunnel that appeared to take them right underneath the castle itself. At the other end of the tunnel, they reached a wide, underground harbor, where the boats parked themselves along the shoreline once more so they could clamber out onto the rocks and pebbles. 

“Oi, you there! Is this your toad?” Hagrid turned to regard Neville as he checked the boats to be sure no one left anything behind. 

“Trevor!” Neville cried blissfully as he held out his hands and took the toad from Hagrid with a grateful nod. Hagrid pat his head and then led the way through a narrow passageway in the rock out onto a smooth patch of damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. From there, they trod up a flight of stone steps that led to a huge, oak front door. 

“Everyone here?” He turned to regard the group gathered around him, glancing at Neville briefly, “You there, still got yer toad?”

After ensuring all was as it should be, Hagrid turned to the large door, raised one gigantic fist and knocked three times. 


	5. The Sorting Hat

The door immediately swung inward, revealing a tall, stern-looking witch with midnight black hair tied in a tight bun, clad in robes of emerald-green. The first thought that crossed Cheyenne’s mind when she saw her was that this was one teacher that shouldn’t be crossed. 

Hagrid stepped to the side, waving one great hand over the heads of the group, “The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall.”

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take it from here.” The witch nodded to Hagrid as she pulled the door wide open. The entrance hall they walked into was huge, large enough that it would have been able to fit either the Dursleys’ or Arabella’s houses inside. Like Gringotts, the interior of the castle was lit by nothing more than a grouping of flaming torches, which cast a bright golden glow across the stone walls and high ceiling. Across from them was a beautiful marble staircase leading to the upper floors.

As they followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor, the drone of hundreds of voices could be heard coming from a pair of large oak doors on their right – no doubt the rest of the school was already seated just beyond those doors – but the first years were led into a small, empty chamber just off the hall. Everyone crowded inside, where they were forced to have to stand closer together than they usually would have while they peered around nervously. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall said from the doorway, folding her hands behind her. “Our annual start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before any of you can take your seats in the Great Hall, you will each be sorted into one of our four houses. The Sorting is one of our most important ceremonies because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will attend classes with the rest of your year, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend your free time in your house common room.

“The four houses the school hosts are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, named for each of its’ founding witches and wizards. Each house has its own rich, noble history and has each produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are here, your triumphs will earn your house points, while rule breaking loses you house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the great honor of the house cup. I hope each and every one of you will be a great asset to whichever house you are placed into. 

“The Sorting Ceremony will begin in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school, your future classmates and professors. I suggest each of you tries to smarten yourselves up as much as you are able while you wait.”

Her eyes swept the group, lingering on where Neville had fastened his cloak under his left ear and the smudge still on Ron’s nose. Out of the corner of her eye, Cheyenne noticed Harry trying to tame his messy hair as she checked to make sure hers’ wasn’t out of place. 

“Please wait here quietly,” Professor McGonagall told them, stepping back out of the chamber, “I shall return when we’re ready for you.”

Cheyenne could feel her heartbeat pick up as Professor McGonagall left them, her hand instinctively searching for Harry’s. The tremble in his grip was quite obvious. 

“How exactly are we to be sorted into our houses?” Harry asked Ron, who was standing on his other side; Cheyenne leaned around him to look up at the gangly ginger. 

“Some sort of test, I think.” Much of the color had left Ron’s cheeks, leaving him looking rather pale under his freckles. “Fred told me it hurts a lot, but I think he was just joking….”

Cheyenne felt her stomach twist into knots, her mind racing with the information she’d garnered from their school books over the last month. Knowing Fred and his twin, he couldn’t have been serious…no way could they be expecting first years to come into school knowing magic already…could they? And if they did, what exactly would they have to do in order to be put in the proper house? Glancing around the room, she noticed the terrified looks on each of the other first years’ faces; no one spoke much, except for Hermione Granger, who was whispering in a very fast voice under her breath about all the spells she’d learned, wondering which one she’d need. Cheyenne chewed her lip, trying to sort through the spells in her mind herself, doing her best to drown out the other girl’s voice so she could concentrate; would they need offense or defense spells? Would they need to stun or paralyze someone? Disarm them…? She suddenly wished she’d had the presence of mind to practice more defensive spells…she didn’t think she’d have it in her to harm anyone or anything they pit her against. 

_(I feel like I’m going to be ill at any moment…)_ Cheyenne couldn’t help thinking as her stomach flipped and churned, leaving her feeling quite queasy all of the sudden as she stared at the door. _(Well, wouldn’t that just be fantastic, walk into the Great Hall and throw up all over the floor…great first impression…)_

The sound of several people screaming behind them made Cheyenne nearly jump out of her skin; she and Harry whipped around. 

“What the -?”

Cheyenne’s mouth fell open while Harry and the people around them gasped at the twenty ghosts that had drifted in through the back wall. Each was pearly-white and slightly transparent, so invested in an argument among themselves as they glided across the room that they barely seemed to notice the first years. 

“Forgive and forget is what I say, we ought to give him a second chance –“ A stout monk was saying when another ghost in a ruff and tights interrupted him.

“My dear Friar, I’m quite sure we’ve given Peeves all the chances he deserves. He really gives us all a bad name and, you know, he isn’t really even a ghost – “He paused, suddenly taking notice of their audience, “I say, what are you all doing here?”

The group just stared with wide, disbelieving eyes. 

“New students!” the Fat Friar interjected, beaming at them. “About to be Sorted, aren’t you?”

A few people gave wordless nods.

“Ah, I hope to see a few of you in Hufflepuff!” The Friar said happily, “My old house, you know.” 

“Move along now.” A sharp voice said from the door; Professor McGonagall had returned and was scowling at the apparitions. “The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin.” 

One by one the ghosts disappeared through the opposite wall. 

“Now, everyone form a line,” Professor McGonagall turned her attention to the first years, “and follow me.” 

Feeling as though her legs had turned to jelly, Cheyenne got in line behind a sand-haired boy, Harry and Ron behind her, and the group followed Professor McGonagall out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through the double oak doors into the Great Hall. 

Cheyenne’s breath caught in her throat and she almost stopped dead in her tracks at the magnificent sight before her; the hall was a long, rectangular room, the walls decorated with sweeping banners of alternating scarlet and gold, yellow and black, blue and bronze, and green and silver, the four long tables, where the rest of the students sat, laden with beautifully glittering golden plates and goblets. Floating in midair above the four house tables and the one long, staff table at the head of the hall were thousands of candles, casting a warm, mesmerizing glow over the room; the other students turned to watch the first years walk into the hall, their pallor pale in the flickering candlelight. Professor McGonagall led the way to the top of the hall and had them line up before the staff table, facing the sea of students before them; through the mix of black robes and multicolored skin, Cheyenne spotted the misty silver of the ghosts they’d seen in the chamber just before they’d entered the Great Hall before she allowed her gaze to trail higher. Instead of the old, dusty beams of an ordinary ceiling, a velvet blanket of star strewn sky peered back at them, reminding her of what she’d read about in her _Hogwarts, A History book._ The school founders had enchanted the hall’s ceiling to reflect the sky outside. An effective enough spell that one would often wonder if the hall didn’t simply open up to the heavens above. 

The _thunk_ of wood on the flagstones drew the first years’ attention as Professor McGonagall placed a short, four-legged stool before them. Upon the stool, she put an old pointed wizard’s hat, which looked badly frayed and filthy. Cheyenne suddenly got the urge to want to clean it and fix up some of the patches around the top. 

_(What’re we supposed to do with this?) She furrowed her brows, (Are we expected to do party tricks, like those magicians at birthdays? Seems rather silly…)_ Peering around the hall, she was startled to see everyone was now focused intently on the hat and quickly focused her attention back on it as well. Silence descended upon the hall as they waited. Suddenly, the hat twitched and a long, thin rip near the brim appeared, growing wider until it resembled a mouth, and the hat started to sing:

_‘Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,_   
_But don’t judge by what you see,_   
_For I will eat myself if you can find_   
_A smarter hat than me._   
_You can keep your bowlers black,_   
_Your top hats sleek and tall,_   
_For I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_   
_And I can cap them all._   
_There’s nothing hidden in your head_   
_I cannot see,_   
_So, try me on and I shall tell you_   
_Where you ought to be._   
_You might belong in brave ol’ Gryffindor,_   
_Where their daring, nerve, and chivalry_   
_Sets them quite apart;_   
_You might be a just and loyal Hufflepuff,_   
_True and patient and unafraid of toil;_   
_Or if you’ve a ready mind, it might be wise old Ravenclaw,_   
_Full of wit and learning,_   
_Where you will always find your own kind;_   
_Or perhaps you’ll find your real friends in Slytherin,_   
_Whose cunning folks will use any means_   
_To achieve their ends._   
_So, put me on, be not afraid!_   
_And don’t get in a flap!_   
_You’re in safe hands (though I have none)_   
_For I’m a Thinking Cap!’_

The entire hall burst into applause as the hat finished its’ song. It bowed to each of the four tables in front of it, then became still once more. 

“So, we only have to try on the hat!” Ron whispered to Harry and Cheyenne, scrunching his nose, “Oh, I’m going to _kill_ Fred, he kept going on about how we would need to wrestle a troll.”

A breath of relief left Cheyenne’s lips; okay…trying on the hat was a great deal better than having to do a spell, even if it was…in front of…the entire school…the nausea returned and she could feel her heart beat in her throat. She had a hard-enough time at her old school getting up in front of a classroom to do an oral report, so how was she going to be able to do this…? The thought of stuttering and embarrassing herself in front of the entire school on her very first day made her clutch Harry’s hand tight in hers’ and he peered at her out of the corner of his eye, furrowing his brows. 

_(All right, Cheyenne, try and calm down…if you get all out of sorts, it’s only going to make Harry feel worse.)_ She took a slow, shaky breath, trying to compose herself. _(Try to think about what house you could be sorted into…you’re not quite so cunning, so it won’t be Slytherin…Gryffindor? Hm…no…you’re not quite as daring as one should be for that house…Ravenclaw, perhaps? You’re always willing to learn and studious...and Nan did always comment about your wit being like your mother’s. But it might be Hufflepuff, too…)_

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, shaking Cheyenne from her thoughts as the teacher unrolled a long roll of parchment. 

“When I call your name, you are to put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she told the first years briskly, taking one long look down the line before her gaze lowered to the parchment, “Abbott, Hannah!”

A blushing girl with long blond pigtails stumbled out of line, put the hat on and sat down; the hat slipped down over her eyes and there was a moment of deliberation, then –

“HUFFLEPUFF!” The hat shouted.

A cheer came from the table to their right and the Hufflepuffs clapped as Hannah scurried to take her seat. Cheyenne spotted the Fat Friar near the end of the table, smiling brilliantly at her. 

Susan Bones followed Hannah to the Hufflepuff table not moments later. 

“Boot, Terry!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

The second to the left table applauded this time; several Ravenclaws rose to shake Terry’s hand as he joined them. He was followed shortly by Mandy Brocklehurst, while Lavender Brown was named the first new Gryffindor. The table on their far left exploded with cheers, far more boisterous than either Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. Cheyenne spotted Ron’s older twin brothers near the middle of the table, whooping and catcalling; she caught Fred’s eye and he grinned at her, winking. Warmth flushed her cheeks. 

Millicent Bulstrode was one of the first new Slytherins. Harry leaned over to whisper to Cheyenne about how unpleasant they seemed. She glanced at their table, frowning...they did see rather, erm, stotic…they reminded her unpleasantly of the Dursleys as they watched the Sorting with a blank, unemotional faces. 

“Finch-Fletchley, Justin!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Cheyenne looked at the hat once more, quick to pick up on the differences in each Sorting; where some were put into a house straight away, others took a little longer to be Sorted. The sandy-haired boy on Cheyenne’s right, Seamus Finnigan, was sitting on the stool for almost a full minute before he was declared a Gryffindor. 

“Granger, Hermione!”

Hermione practically ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on top of her head. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” The hat shouted after a couple of moments. Ron groaned. 

Harry’s hand suddenly tightened around Cheyenne’s and she glanced at her best friend out of the corner of her eye, furrowing her brows. Much of the color had drained from his face, although there was a definite green tinge to his cheeks now, making him look as though he was ready to be sick. 

“Harry…?” Cheyenne whispered under her breath, her heart twisting at seeing him so anxious. 

“Chey…what if the hat doesn’t put me in a house…?” He whispered back in a strangled voice, “What if I just sit there for ages until Professor McGonagall takes the hat back and says I don’t belong here…what if…what if I have to go back to the Dursleys?”

Cheyenne gave her friend a reassuring look, knowing his nerves were just getting to him, “You won’t Harry, I know it. If you didn’t belong here, you wouldn’t be here at all. We both belong here, and we’re going to have so many adventures here. Together.” 

Harry looked at Cheyenne then, looking deep into her eyes; she smiled, her gaze open and sincere, bringing with it a familiar sense of calm and reassurance. Harry relaxed a little, feeling some of his fear dissipate, knowing his best friend was right. There was still a part of him that was nervous, thinking about when it would be his turn to put on the hat, but knowing she was there by his side always put him at ease, knowing he wasn’t alone in this, even now. 

Another thought struck him then as Neville Longbottom was called up to try on the hat; he and Cheyenne had always been together…even if neither of them was sent home, would they have to be separated here? Would they still be as close as they were now if they were Sorted into different houses?

The sound of laughter had drawn Cheyenne’s attention away again and she smiled quietly, watching Neville jog back from the Gryffindor table to hand the hat to Morag MacDougal. Harry reluctantly returned his attention to the front as well, his grip still tight on her hand. 

When Malfoy’s name was called, he swaggered forward like he owned the place and got his wish almost immediately: the hat was barely on his head before he was pronounced a Slytherin. He was smirking as he joined his friends Crabbe and Goyle at their table, looking rather pleased with himself. 

There weren’t many people left to be Sorted now; Harry and Cheyenne watched together as, one by one, their fellow first years were placed into their houses, including a pair of twin girls, before it was finally their turn. 

“Potter, Harry!”

Whispers erupted throughout the hall as Harry stepped forward; Cheyenne gave his hand a quick squeeze before letting him go, catching snippets of conversation as she tried to ignore the feeling of hundreds of eyes on her, her attention almost solely on her best friend. 

“Did she say Potter?”

“ _The_ Harry Potter? Is Cheyenne Power with him?”

Cheyenne clenched her hands in front of her in an effort to maintain what she hoped was a calm, collected composure as she watched the hat drop down in front of Harry’s eyes. In that moment, she did not care in the slightest what happened to her, only what would happen to him, that he would be placed into a good house where he would be accepted, where he could flourish and grow. She could be put into a completely different house or even told she didn’t belong here, so long as Harry was better off at this school than he had been in Little Whinging. He deserved it more than anyone else she had ever known, after everything he had had to endure in his young life. 

_(Please let Harry have a good life here…let it be better than the one he had with the Durseys…)_ She prayed, feeling her anxiety grow with each passing second. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” The hat shouted; Cheyenne breathed a sigh of relief as there was an uproar of cheers from the Gryffindor table, beaming at Harry as he shakily took off the hat and stumbled over to join his new housemates. Ron’s brother, Percy, stood to shake his hand vigorously while Fred and George were yelling, “We got Potter!” At the top of their lungs. When Harry took a seat, the ghost in the ruff they’d seen earlier was sitting opposite him; he gave a friendly smile and leaned over to pat his arm in congratulations. 

“Power, Cheyenne!”

Taking a deep breath, Cheyenne straightened her shoulders and marched toward the stool with as much confidence as she could muster while the hall was filled with whispers once more. 

“Cheyenne Power _is_ here! The P-team is at Hogwarts!”

“I wonder what house she’ll be in?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if she was put in the same house as Potter.” 

Taking the hat in her hands, Cheyenne took a seat on the stool, sat up as straight as she possibly could, and placed the hat on her head. Just like it had with Harry, it slipped down over her eyes, the dark interior better to endure than the curious stare of the other students.

“Hmmm, another difficult one we have here.” A quiet voice whispered in her ear, “Yet a different kind of difficult than the others…you have quite the personality: an eager mind, ready to learn, full of untapped potential and talent, yet loyal and selfless when it comes to those you care about …” 

An image of her best friend’s face filled her mind and Cheyenne clenched her robes tight in her hands. The hat hummed, obviously intrigued. 

“Where do you believe you belong?” 

Cheyenne was surprised by the question, having not expected it. She paused to think about it, considering her options. 

“The obvious choice is Hufflepuff, isn’t it? I’m just and loyal, unafraid of toil if it means looking out for my friends…I wish I could stay with Harry, but…I do not carry the traits of a Gryffindor…I try to be brave for my loved ones, but it isn’t enough to put me in that house. It is ultimately your choice, though, you are the Sorting Hat after all.”

The hat chuckled lowly, “Clever and modest. Hufflepuff is the ideal, and Ravenclaw would do just as well to serve you…you fit either of their criteria…but there’s more there, another side that needs a chance to grow…and I believe the correct house to help with that is…GRYFFINDOR!”

Cheyenne’s heart gave a leap in her chest as the hat shouted out her chosen house for all to hear. Another explosion of cheers came from the direction of the Gryffindor table as she got to her feet, placed the hat back upon the stool, and practically ran into Harry’s arms as he stood to meet her. Percy put a hand on her back and smiled warmly as the twins crooned on about Gryffindor’s good fortune. Flushing in embarrassment, Cheyenne quickly took the seat next to Harry, hoping to get out of the limelight now that she had been Sorted. The ghost with the ruff smiled at her, reaching over to pat her hand; gooseflesh immediately rose on her arm as it felt as though she’d just plunged her hand into a bucket of ice water. 

From this vantage point, she could now get a proper view of the High Table. At the end nearest their table sat Hagrid, who gave Harry and Cheyenne a thumbs-up when they caught his eye. They smiled back before Cheyenne allowed her gaze to sweep along the table. Sitting at the very center, in a large golden chair, was Albus Dumbledore, who she immediately recognized from the Chocolate Frog card they’d gotten on the train. Dumbledore’s long, silver hair was the only thing in the entire hall that could rival the ghosts in brightness and color. Professor Quirrell, the nervous young man she and Harry had met in the Leaky Cauldron, sat on the other side of the table, his head wrapped in a large purple turban. 

There were only four people left to be Sorted now. Dean Thomas, a black young man taller than Ron, joined Harry and Cheyenne at the Gryffindor table. Lisa Turpin was dubbed a Ravenclaw and then, finally, it was Ron’s turn. His cheeks had turned a pale, sickly green color now and he looked seconds away from either fainting or being sick. Harry took Cheyenne’s hand under the table and they watched with bated breath, praying together until the hat proclaimed him a Gryffindor as well. 

Harry and Cheyenne clapped loudly along with the rest of their house as Ron collapsed into the seat on Cheyenne’s other side. 

“Well done, Ron.” Percy leaned across the table to pat his younger brother’s arm as Blaise Zabini was made a Slytherin. As soon as he took his seat, Professor McGonagall rolled up the scroll and carried the Sorting Hat and it’s stool out of the hall. 

Dumbledore got to his feet, beaming around at the students with his arms outstretched, as though nothing pleased him more than to see all of them here. Cheyenne was once again reminded of a grandfather figure, especially as the look in their headmaster’s eyes made her think of an old man looking upon his grandchildren with pride. 

“Welcome to a brand-new year at Hogwarts!” His voice was soft, but carried throughout the hall in a kind, respectable way, carrying with it an underlying sense of authority, “Before we begin our banquet, I have just a few words to say: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!” His eyes twinkled in amusement, “Thank you!” He resumed his seat as the rest of the hall burst into applause and cheers. Cheyenne blinked and looked at Harry, who looked about as lost as she felt, torn between being concerned or wanting to laugh. 

“Erm…is…is he a bit mad?” he asked Percy uncertainly. 

“Mad?” Percy sniffed, “Why, the man’s a genuis! One of the best wizards in the entire world! But I suppose he is a tad mad, yes. Would either of you like some potatoes?’ 

Harry and Cheyenne looked down at the table, their eyes widening when they saw the food piled atop the dishes and platters before them. Neither of them had seen so many of their favorite foods laid out on the same table: roast beef and chicken, pork and lamb chops, medium rare steak, bacon, sausages, roast and mashed potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, broccoli with melted cheese, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

While it was true the Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, he’d never been able to eat as much food as he wanted unless he ate over at the Figg household. Dudley would always take anything that Harry really wanted, even to the point of making himself sick. Cheyenne smiled as she watched Harry pile his plate with a little of everything aside from the peppermints and dig in enthusiastically, glad to see things already taking a better turn for her best friend as she took some food for herself and tucked in. The food was absolutely delicious. 

“Ah, that does look good,” the ghost in the ruff said wistfully as he watched Harry cut up his steak. Harry glanced at Cheyenne, who cocked her head empathically while Harry turned back to the ghost.

“You can’t -?”

“I haven’t eaten in nearly five hundred years,” the ghost sighed. “I don’t really need to anymore, but one does miss it after a while. I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself?” He gave a small smile, “Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. I am the resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”

“I know who you are!” Ron piped up suddenly, looking at the ghost with wide eyes, “My brothers’ve told me all about you – you’re Nearly Headless Nick!”

“I would prefer it if you called me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy –“the ghost began stiffly, only to be interrupted by young Seamus Finnigan.

“Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?”

Sir Nicholas wrinkled his nose, looking extremely displeased with the turn the conversation had taken. 

“Like this,” he sniffed irritably, taking a hold of his left ear and giving it a light pull. His whole head swung off his neck and rolled onto his shoulder, the thin bit of skin and muscle keeping it attached to his body acting as something of a hinge. It was obvious someone had once tried to behead him, but hadn’t been able to properly follow through with it. 

Pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick swung his head back onto his neck, coughed, then said, “So, new Gryffindors! I do hope you’re all going to help us win the house championship this year. Gryffindor has never gone so long without winning it…unfortunately, Slytherin has been the victor of the house cup six years in a row now! The Bloody Baron has become almost unbearable…he’s the Slytherin ghost.” 

Harry and Cheyenne glanced over their shoulders for a peek at the Slytherin table, where they spotted the ghost sitting beside Draco Malfoy, who looked quite displeased with the sitting arrangements. The Bloody Baron was a larger ghost, with a gaunt face and blank eyes adorned in robes covered in silver blood. 

“How’d he get covered in blood like that?” Seamus asked, turning his attention back to Nearly Headless Nick with wide, curious eyes. 

“I’d never asked,” Nearly Headless Nick replied delicately, as though that was a sensitive matter and left it at that.

Once everyone had had their fill of the main course, the remains of their food faded from the plates and platters, leaving them as sparkling clean as before. Not a moment later, the desserts appeared, comprised of blocks of ice cream in every flavor imaginable, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries and melted chocolate, Jell-O, rice pudding…

While Harry helped himself to a bit of treacle tart and Cheyenne some chocolate ice cream, the talk about the table turned to everyone’s families. 

“I’m half-and-half,” Seamus said with a chuckle. “Me dad’s a Muggle. Mum didn’t tell him she was a witch ‘til after they got married. Bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out.” 

A few people laughed.

“What about you, Neville?” Ron asked, turning to the round-faced boy.

“Well, my gran brought me up and she’s a witch,” Neville said, playing with his food a bit, “but my family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. Any time my Great Uncle Algie came over, he would try to catch me off guard and force some magic out of me – I nearly drowned when he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once – but nothing really happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner and hung me out of an upstairs window by the ankles…until Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced all the way down the garden and into the road, ended up without a scratch. Everyone was really pleased and Gran was crying, she was so happy. You should’ve seen their faces when I got my letter – they thought I might not have enough magic in me to come here. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased about it, he bought me Trevor.”

Cheyenne tuned into a conversation Percy and Hermione were having on the other side of the table about the kind of lessons they would be learning, interjecting her opinion and thoughts once or twice. Hermione gushed about how she hoped their lessons started right away since they had so much to learn and expressed her interest in Transfiguration, one of their more difficult subjects. Percy reassured her they would be starting small, turning matches into needles and such. Cheyenne asked about their other lessons and Percy, seeming more than delighted to pass on this knowledge to younger students, eagerly divulged details about each class and what the first years could expect going in. 

As Percy told them about the teachers, a brief, hot pain flashed across Cheyenne’s right cheek and her vision suddenly blurred. She squeezed her eyes tight and pressed a hand to her cheek, hissing in a breath through her teeth.

“Are you two all right?” Percy asked as Cheyenne blinked her eyes open again, glancing at Harry, who had his own hand pressed to the scar on his forehead. 

“Y-yeah, we’re okay.” Harry looked at Cheyenne with furrowed brows, as though to make double sure; she smiled reassuringly. The pain had gone as quickly as it had come, but she could see something else was bothering him aside from that…something he had seen she hadn’t while she’d been distracted. Harry turned away from her, looking back up toward the High Table. 

“Hey Percy, who’s that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?” He asked, pointing to the rather intimidating man seated beside his timider colleague; this man looked a tad taller than Quirrell and held himself in a very confident, disciplined way despite the long greasy curtain of hair that framed his pale, sallow skin and the strange crook to his long nose. When he met Cheyenne’s eye, she was quite surprised at how black his eyes were. 

“Ah, you two have met Quirrell already, have you?” Percy sat up to look as well, “That’s Professor Snape he’s speaking with…no wonder the poor man’s nervous. Snape teaches Potions, but that wasn’t his first choice when he was hired here – everyone knows he’s always been after Quirrell’s job. He knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape does.”

Cheyenne cocked her head, curious, but Snape had turned away from her now and didn’t spare either her or Harry another glance. 

Finally, the desserts disappeared as well and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet once more. The hall immediately fell silent. 

“Ahem – I have a few more words to say now that we are all fed and watered. Just a few start-of-term notices you all need to be aware of.

“First years should take note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” His twinkling eyes flashed in the Weasley twins’ direction. “And, at the request of our caretaker, Mr. Filch, I have been asked to remind you all that no magic is to be used between classes in the corridors.

“Quidditch trails will not begin until the second week of term. Anyone who might be interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch for more information. And finally, I must tell you all that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is off limit to anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

A few people laughed, including Harry, but Cheyenne couldn’t quite bring herself to find anything funny in this situation. If Dumbledore had to warn them not to enter a certain place in the castle, there had to be a very good reason for it. Likely the forest he had mentioned was full of dangers students wouldn’t be able to handle on their own…but what could be in the third-floor corridor that would be so concerning…?

“And now, before we retire to bed, let us sing the school song!” Dumbledore cried excitedly. Harry and Cheyenne noticed a few of the teachers’ smiles become a tad strained, like they would rather do anything else but that. 

Taking his wand from his robes, Dumbledore gave it a little flick, like he was shaking some dust off it, and a long golden ribbon flew from the end; it rose high above the tables and began to twist itself, snakelike, into words. 

“Now, everyone pick their favorite tune,” Dumbledore beamed down at all the students, “and off we go!”

As one, the school began to bellow: 

_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_   
_Teach us something please,_   
_Whether we be old and bald_   
_Or young with scabby knees,_   
_Ours heads could do with filling_   
_With some interesting stuff,_   
_For now, they are bare and full of air,_   
_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_   
_So, teach us things worth knowing,_   
_Bring back what we’ve forgot, just do your best, we’ll do the rest,_   
_And learn until our brains all rot.”_

One by one, everyone finished the song at different times until only the Weasley twins, singing along to a very slow funeral march, were left. Dumbledore calmly conducted their last few lines with his wand and was one of the ones who clapped the loudest when they’d finished. 

“Ah music,” He sighed, wiping at his eyes. “A magic that is beyond all we do here! And now, it is time for bed. Off you trot!”

Percy gathered all the Gryffindor first years from the table and, after making sure he had everyone, led the way through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the grand marble staircase to the upper floors. Cheyenne’s legs were feeling rather heavy now and she had to blink several times in order to keep herself awake under the warm weight of a full and satisfied stomach; Harry, feeling rather sleepy and full himself, kept leaning tiredly into her until she took his hand to direct him through the corridors and to keep him from running into the other students. So focused on directing her best friend through the castle, Cheyenne failed to notice the moving portraits that lined the walls of the castle of people whispering and pointing after them or the two hidden doorways Percy led them through.

“I’m sure we’re almost there, Harry,” Cheyenne whispered when Percy put one arm out to stop the first years while he came to a halt as well, frowning at something just ahead. The group leaned around him to look, curious.

Floating in midair several meters ahead of them was a bundle of walking sticks, which began to throw themselves at Percy when he took a cautious step toward them. 

“Peeves,” Percy whispered to the first years, holding his arms up to shield his face, “He’s the school poltergeist.” When the walking sticks stopped their assault, he raised his head and spoke in a loud clear voice, “Peeves – show yourself!”

What sounded like a very loud raspberry was the only reply. 

“Do you want me to fetch the Bloody Baron?” 

With a loud pop, a little man with wicked black eyes and a wide, jeering mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in midair and clutching the walking sticks. 

“Oooooh!” He cackled evilly, “Ickle Firsties! What fun!”

Without warning, he swooped down on the group, and they all ducked. 

“Go away, Peeves, or the Baron will hear about this, I mean it!” Percy barked. 

Peeves stuck his tongue out at them and vanished, dropping the walking sticks in the process; Neville yelped as they landed on his head and they could hear Peeves zoom away down the corridor, rattling coats of armor along the way. 

“You’ll want to watch out for Peeves,” Percy sighed as they set off again. “The only one in this entire castle who can control him is the Bloody Baron…he won’t even listen to us prefects or the teachers. Ah, here we are.”

The corridor ended at the portrait of an oversized woman in a pretty silk dress. 

“Password?” Was all she asked. 

“Caput Draconis,” Percy said promptly; the portrait immediately swung forward to reveal a large round hole in the wall behind it. Percy stepped to the side to allow the first years in before him, giving a few, like Neville, a leg up. Once through the hole, they found themselves in the large tower room that was designated the Gyffindor common room; it was a nice room, cozy, filled with squashy armchairs and heated by a large fireplace off to one side. 

Once everyone had gotten through, Percy directed the girls through a door to left and the boys through a door to the right to find their dormitories. Cheyenne squeezed Harry’s hand and muttered a quick goodnight before she followed the other girls through the door and up a narrow spiral staircase, which ended at a large wooden door, marked ‘first years’ by a small plaque hung beside it. Inside were five four-poster beds decorated with deep red, velvet curtains, their trunks waiting for them by the foot of each bed. 

Stretching and yawning, the girls got themselves dressed for bed, talking idly among themselves as the call of sleep became harder to resist. Cheyenne stuck up a brief conversation with Hermione about what this school year would hold for them, the things they would learn and experience. 

“Oh, I just can’t wait for lessons tomorrow!” Hermione chirped as she clambered into bed. “I wonder which classes we’ll have first?”

“I’m sure we’ll find out tomorrow.” Cheyenne yawned, pulling one side of the curtains closed before she sat back and stretched, “Hmm, but we’ll need our sleep if we want to be ready.”

“Hm mm, especially after such a wonderful feast.” Hermione laid back in her four poster, “I just hope I’m able to sleep…Goodnight, Cheyenne.”

“Goodnight, Hermione.” Cheyenne smiled sleepily as she pulled the curtains closed and rolled over to get comfortable. She was out almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. 

Perhaps it was the nerves or perhaps she’d eaten a little too much at the feast, but Cheyenne’s dreams that night were anything but peaceful. She dreamed about Harry, who, for some reason, was wearing Professor Quirrell’s turban; Harry was screaming at it that he didn’t want to be in Slytherin and stumbling about as though something was weighing down on him. He grabbed at the turban, but couldn’t wretch it off his head. She opened her mouth to call out to him but…there was nothing. Her voice was…gone. Harry’s screams echoed in her head, followed by an orchestra of laughter nearby, although she couldn’t quite pinpoint the source. A sudden pain throbbed in her temples and her vision blurred again as the pitch of the laughter got higher, bringing with it a cold shiver that caused gooseflesh to rise on her arms. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she reached out for her best friend, trying to call out to him again when her vision was filled with a burst of green light – Cheyenne gasped as she jerked upright in bed, panting and shaking.

Blinking slowly and glancing around at her surroundings, Cheyenne rolled over in bed once more and slowly drifted back off to sleep. 


	6. The Potions Master

The whispers and stares of the other students were constant companions for Harry and Cheyenne the days following their arrival at Hogwarts; from the moment they left their dormitories, the other pupils would do all they could to get a look at the pair, from standing on tiptoe and craning their necks to peer around the head of someone else to doing a double take when they passed one or both of them in the corridor. Cheyenne, feeling extremely self-conscious from the attention, did her best to concentrate on finding her way around the castle without getting lost.

Hogwarts contained a total of one hundred and forty-two staircases in a variety of sizes, lengths, and conditions, ranging from wide, sweeping ones to ones that were narrow and rickety; some that led somewhere completely different on a Friday; some had a step that vanished halfway up that you had to remember to avoid. And not to mention all the manner of doors they had to encounter on top of that: doors that wouldn’t open unless asked politely or tickled in just the right spot and even faux doors that turned out to be solid walls pretending to be doors. It became a normal sight to see the people in the portraits visiting one another throughout the day and Cheyenne could swear she had seen one of the coats of armor walking around one of the lower floors when she and Hermione were headed for Potions class. The way everything inside it moved, Cheyenne began to wonder if the castle wasn’t alive itself, like the magic in the air had somehow breathed life into the very walls. 

The ghosts were something of a help, once the shock of them gliding out of the walls or a locked door had somewhat worn off; Nearly Headless Nick was always willing to help point the new students in the right direction, although Peeves the Poltergeist…was another story. Any students he ran into in the corridors would get wastepaper baskets dropped on their heads, rugs pulled out from under their feet, pelted with bits of chalk, or Peeves sneaking up on them without being seen, grabbing their nose, and screeching, “GOT YOUR CONK!”

There was only one other person in the entire castle worse than Peeves, if that was even possible: the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry and Ron, who somehow managed to get on his wrong side their very first morning, were unfortunate enough to find out just how bad he really was. From what they told Cheyenne later on at lunch, he’d found them trying to force their way through a door that, unluckily, turned out to be the entrance leading to the out-of-bounds third floor corridor. He wouldn’t believe them when they told him they were lost, convinced they had been trying to break into it on purpose and were threatening to lock them up in the dungeons when Professor Quirrell happened upon the scene and rescued them from the caretaker’s wrath. After hearing this story, Cheyenne was rather grateful she’d been able to avoid such a situation since she had found her way to class with Hermione, who was quickly becoming a new friend. 

To many of the students’ displeasure, Filch did not work alone: he had an ally in the scrawny, dust-colored creature he called his pet cat, Mrs. Norris. She would patrol the corridors all on her own, spying on students with bulging, lamp-like eyes that were identical to that of her bad-tempered owner’s. If a rule was broken in front of her or a student put one toe out of line, she would immediately whisk off to find Filch, who would appear, wheezing, within seconds. Filch knew the castle’s secret passageways better than anyone else (well, except for perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop out as suddenly as any of the ghosts. All the students hated him and practically everyone shared a secret ambition of giving Mrs. Norris a swift kick to the rump. 

The classes themselves had more to them than either Harry or Cheyenne could have expected. It didn’t take either of them long to learn that magic required far more than just waving your wand and saying a couple of funny words. 

On Wednesday nights at midnight, they spent hours studying the night skies through their telescopes, learning the names of various stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they were down in the greenhouses behind the castle studying Herbology, taught by a stout little witch by the name of Professor Sprout, where they learned how to care for an array of strange plants and fungi, and what each could be used for. The most boring class they had to sit through, out of any of the others, was History of Magic, the only subject taught by one of the ghosts. Professor Binns had been quite old when he’d fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire, unknowingly leaving his body behind when he awoke the following morning. The whole class was spent with Binns standing at the podium at the front of the class and droning on while students scribbled down names and dates, often accidentally mixing up a few historical figures in the process. 

Their Charms teacher, Professor Flitwick, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand atop a pile of books just to see over his desk. As soon as the class was seated on their first day, he took roll call; when he reached Harry and Cheyenne’s names, however, he gave a rather loud squeak, sounding eeriely like a mouse, and toppled out of sight. 

Professor McGonagall, though, was a bit different; Cheyenne had been right to assume she wasn’t a teacher that should be crossed, especially when Professor McGonagall gave their class a strict talking-to as soon as they were seated for her first class. 

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you all will be learning here at Hogwarts,” She said as she stood behind her desk, surveying the class with a stern eye, “I will not tolerate anyone messing around in my class and anyone who does so shall be asked to leave and not come back. You have been warned.” 

As a way of demonstrating the power of Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall changed her desk into a pig and then back again while the class looked on, silently impressed at her skill and eager to get started themselves. They would soon learn, however, that they wouldn’t be changing the furniture into animals for a long time yet. After taking a slew of complicated notes, each student was given a match and told to turn it into a needle. By the end of their lesson, Hermione and Cheyenne were the only ones who had managed to make any differences to their matches; Professor McGonagall used Hermione’s to show the class how it should be done, pointing out how the end had turned silver and pointy while she gave the two girls a rare smile. 

The one class everyone was really looking forward to, however, was Defense Against the Dark Arts, although it wouldn’t take the first years long to learn how much of a joke Quirrell’s lessons really were. As soon as they walked through the door on their first day, they were assaulted by the strong smell of garlic, which all of the older students often told them was there to ward off a vampire Quirrell had encountered in Romania, one he was rather afraid was still looking for him. The odd turban he wore, according to Quirrell himself, had been given to him as a gift from an African prince whose village he had rid of a troublesome zombie, although none of the class were quite sure of the validity of the story. Their skepticism was only compounded when Quirrell quickly changed the subject to talk about the weather when Seamus Finnigan eagerly asked to hear how he’d managed to fend off the zombie. It didn’t really help Quirrell’s case either that the students had noticed the funny smell that hung around the turban, which the Weasley twins insisted was stuffed full of garlic so that Quirrell would have protection wherever he went. 

Much to both Harry and Cheyenne’s relief, it didn’t take either of them long to figure out neither of them was too far behind the rest of their class when it came to knowing magic. Many of their classmates came from Muggle families, just as they did, and hadn’t known they were witches and wizards until they got their acceptance letters to Hogwarts the previous summer. There was so much for all of them to learn that even Ron, who came from a long line of wizards himself, didn’t have much in the way of a head start. 

By the end of their first week, Harry and Ron had managed to get their bearings enough to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost. Cheyenne, who had come down shortly before them with Hermione, looked up from their conversation as the boys joined them at the Gryffindor table. 

“Mornin’ Chey,” Harry dropped down in the seat across from her and helped himself to some porridge, “So, what have we got today?” He asked Ron as she smiled in greeting.

“Double Potions with the Slytherins,” Ron wrinkled his nose. “Snape’s the Head of Slytherin…heard he really favors his own house – guess we’ll be able to see if that’s true today.” 

“Wish McGonagall favored us.” Harry muttered, poking at his porridge moodily as Cheyenne gave him a small smile. Even though Professor McGonagall was the Head of Gryffindor House, it hadn’t stopped her from giving their class a huge load of homework the day previous. 

“C’mon, Harry, she isn’t that bad, she’s just…passionate about her subject.” She soothed, knowing how much her best friend disliked homework, magical or not. “Every teacher is different and I’m sure she has our best interests at heart. She could be –“

“ – a lot worse, you know?” Harry finished for her, sighing. Ron gave the two a sharp look, furrowing his brows as Cheyenne shook her head, hiding a smile behind her cup. 

“Blimey it’s creepy when the two of you do that. You’re not even related. Or dating.” He muttered as he tore off a piece of bacon with his teeth. Harry and Cheyenne looked at him, then each other and shrugged; the pair of them had been together for so long, it wasn’t unusual for them to be on the same page, so much so they’d stopped really noticing it themselves…even when their old Muggle classmates or bullies would tease them about it. 

A great clattering and the swoosh of feathers from overhead drew their attention to the ceiling above, where hundreds of owls came streaming into the Great Hall through the rafters to circle the tables, carrying any manner of letters or packages for their owners. It’d been quite the shock their first morning for Harry and Cheyenne to learn this was how the morning mail often arrived, although they’d quite gotten used to it by now. 

Hedwig and Elon often came to visit Harry and Cheyenne in the mornings to say hello and steal a bite of food before they flew off to sleep in the owlery with the rest of the schools’ owls; Elon often came with letters from Arabella checking in to see how Cheyenne was settling in at school and find out how she was enjoying her classes. Cheyenne wrote her when she could, telling her all about the castle and making sure her grandmother was faring well without her. Today, though, Hedwig was the one who arrived with a note for Harry, which she dropped onto his plate. From what Cheyenne could see, the note was written in a very untidy scrawl, which Harry red aloud to her and Ron.

_**Dear Harry and Cheyenne,** _   
_**I know the two of you get Friday afternoons off, so would the two of you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?** _   
_**I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.** _   
_**Hagrid** _

“Oh, tea sounds lovely. We haven’t had the chance to see Hagrid since we arrived.” Cheyenne smiled and nodded for Harry to accept the invitation. He borrowed Ron’s quill to scribble a quick _Yes, please, see you later_ on the back of the note before he sent it off with Hedwig once more. 

Tea at Hagrid’s was at least an upside to their day, especially after how horribly their Potions lesson would turn out to be. 

Harry had told Cheyenne his suspicions about Professor Snape’s dislike for him the morning after the start-of-term banquet. Cheyenne had been doubtful Professor Snape would dislike Harry before they’d even gotten the chance to meet, but by the end of their first Potions lessons, they both would realize just how wrong they had been. Snape didn’t just dislike Harry – he _hated_ him. 

Unlike most of their other class, Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons, which were significantly colder than the rest of the castle. The cold wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t’ve been for the creepy pickled animals Snape kept floating in glass jars along the walls. 

Like Flitwick, Snape started the class by taking role call and paused at Harry and Cheyenne’s names. 

“Ah, yes,” He said in a quietly disconcerting voice, “Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, our new… _celebrities_.”

Draco Malfoy and his friends, Crabbe and Goyle, stifled audible sniggers behind their hands. Snape finished roll call and then looked up at the class. His eyes were black, just as Hagrid’s were, and yet they were somehow vastly different; where Hagrid’s eyes were warm and comforting, Snape’s were cold, empty, like fathomless dark pits. 

“The goal of these lessons you shall be taking with me, is for you all to learn the subtle science and exact art that is potionmaking,” he began as he set the ledger aside. Although he spoke barely above a whisper, the class was sure to catch every word – just like Professor McGonagall, Snape had a gift for keeping the class silent without too great an effort. “There will be no foolish wand-waving or incantations in my class, although I can assure you it is magic, just as any other subject taught in this school. I don’t expect any of you will ever really understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron, with its shimmering fumes or the delicate power liquids have as they creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses…I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even…” He paused, surveying the class, as though for dramatic effect, “put a stopper in death – just so long as you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

No one said a word; Harry exchanged a look first with Cheyenne, then Ron, as though none of them were quite sure what to think. Hermione, meanwhile, was perched on the very edge of her seat, leaning eagerly forward, as though determined to start proving she was far from a dunderhead. 

“Potter!” Everyone jumped as Snape spoke suddenly, “If I was to add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what would I get?” 

Harry looked completely lost as he glanced at Ron, who looked just as stumped, then Cheyenne, who gave a small, encouraging smile; Hermione’s hand was immediately in the air. 

“I…I don’t know, sir,” Harry finally muttered as he returned his attention to Snape, whose lips curled into a sneer. 

“Tut, tut…fame clearly isn’t everything.” He hummed, ignoring Hermione completely as his black eyes glided over to Cheyenne, who automatically sat up straighter. 

“Let’s see if you can do any better, Power. If I was to ask you to find me a bezoar, where would it be?” 

“A bezoar is a stone that can be taken from the stomach of a goat. It can cure most poisons.” She answered promptly. Snape nodded slowly as Hermione let her hand fall to the table, although she didn’t move from the edge of her seat, eagerly awaiting the next question. 

“Now, let us see if Potter can redeem himself.” Snape returned his cold gaze to Harry, who notched his chin up a little. 

“Can you tell me the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane, Potter?” 

Hermione’s hand was immediately in the air again, stretched so high she was practically bouncing out of her seat. 

“I-I don’t know, sir,” Harry replied quietly. “But I think Hermione does and you know Chey does, too…why don’t you ask one of them?” 

“He is right, sir.” Cheyenne spoke up softly, sitting up straight to meet Snape’s gaze again, “It seems a bit unfair to just quiz someone on the first day, not everyone has the ability to memorize everything in their books, especially first years. Not everyone would know asphodel and wormwood make a powerful sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death, or that monkshood and wolfsbane are the exact same plant, which can also be called aconite…”

A brief silence descended over the class as Snape eyed Cheyenne through narrowed eyes. She kept his gaze silently, all too aware of the eyes of the rest of the students looking between the two of them, curious to know what would happen next. 

“Well?” Snape snapped after about a minute, finally breaking his gaze from Cheyenne’s to sweep it over the rest of the class, “All of you should be copying this down.” 

Everyone immediately started rummaging through their bags for their quills and parchment while Snape called over the noise, “As for your cheek, Power, I will be taking a point from Gryffindor House.”

Things only seemed to worsen for the Gryffindors as their lesson continued. Once they’d all taken note about what Snape had quizzed Harry and Cheyenne on, he split them all into pairs and had them mix up a simple potion that would cure boils. As they weighed dried nettles and crushed snake fangs, Snape spent the rest of their lesson sweeping around the classroom in his long black cloak, watching and criticizing just about everyone aside from Malfoy, whom had quickly become his favorite. He was just calling attention to the perfect way in which Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing noise filled the dungeon, drawing everyone’s attention to where Neville and Seamus were working. Neville had managed to mess up so badly that it had left Seamus’s cauldron as little more than a twisted, shapeless blob while the potion itself had seeped through onto the stone floor, where it was quickly beginning to spread and burn holes in people’s shoes. Immediately, everyone clambered to stand on their stools and the tables to get away from the potion while Neville, who got drenched in it when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils began to spring up and down his arms and legs. 

“Idiot boy!” Snape snarled, clearing away the spilled potion with a wave of his wand, “You added the porcupine quills before you took the cauldron off the fire, didn’t you?” 

Neville whimpered as boils began appearing on his nose. 

“Take him to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus before he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville. 

“You, Potter, you should have told him not to add those quills! Did you think he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, huh? That’ll be another point from Gyffindor.” 

Cheyenne, who was working at the desk behind Harry and Ron with Hermione, bristled and went to jump to her best friend’s defense, but Hermione gripped her arm tight, stopping her before she opened her mouth. Cheyenne frowned at her as Hermione shook her head. 

“Don’t try to push your luck, Cheyenne.” She murmured under her breath, watching Snape sweep away up the dungeon, “Some of the older students warned me Snape can turn very nasty if you’re not careful.”

Cheyenne sighed softly and nodded in understanding. 

Harry was very quiet as they were leaving the dungeon an hour later; Cheyenne could tell by the look on his face that what had happened really bothered him. She couldn’t quite understand it herself…Snape didn’t even know Harry, so she couldn’t understand why he would take such an intense dislike to him so quickly…

“Hey, cheer up, Harry,” Ron said as they left the dungeons behind, “Snape’s always taking points off Fred and George, so neither of you are alone. Hey, do you think I can come and meet Hagrid with you?” 

At five to three, the trio left the castle and crossed the grounds to where Hagrid lived on the edge of the forbidden forest. His house was a small, wooden hut with a large garden out front. A crossbow and pair of galoshes sat outside the front door as they walked up. 

When Harry knocked, they could hear a frantic scrabbling inside, accompanied by several deep, booming barks. Hagrid’s voice soon followed, calling out over the noise, “Back, Fang – back!”

The door cracked open and Hagrid poked his big, hairy face through the gap.

“Hang on,” he smiled apologetically before he looked back over his shoulder, “Back, Fang.” 

Once he had control, Hagrid finally let them inside, although he continued to struggle to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

The interior of the hut was comprised of a single room. From the ceiling hung several hams and pheasants while a copper kettle boiled on the open fire; in the corner was a massive looking bed made up with a single, patchwork quilt. 

“Make yerselves at home,” Hagrid said as he closed the door and released Fang, who bound straight for Ron and started licking him round the ears. Just like his owner, the boarhound was obviously not as fierce as he looked. 

“Hagrid, this is Ron,” Cheyenne introduced as they sat around the table, watching Hagrid pour boiling water into a large teapot and set rock cakes on a plate.

“Another Weasley, eh?” Hagrid said, taking note of Ron’s freckles as he brought over a tray with the teapot, rock cakes, and four teacups. “I’ve spent half me life chasin’ yer twin brothers away from the forest.”

The rock cakes Hagrid gave them were shapeless lumps with raisins that nearly broke their teeth, but Harry, Ron, and Cheyenne all pretended to enjoy them for Hagrid’s sake as they told him all about their first week at Hogwarts. Fang scooted under the table to lay his head in Cheyenne’s lap and drool all over her robes. 

When the boys told Hagrid about Filch, they were quite delighted when they heard him call the caretaker ‘that old git.’

“An’ as fer that cat o’ his, Mrs. Norris, I’d like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D’yeh know, every time I go up ter the school ter work, she follows me everywhere? Can’t get rid of her either – Filch puts her up to it…” 

Harry then told Hagrid about how their lesson with Snape had gone. Like Ron, though, Hagrid told Harry and Cheyenne not to worry too much about it, as Snape rarely liked any of the students he taught. 

“He really seemed to hate Harry, though…” Cheyenne squeezed Harry’s shoulder reassuringly as he nodded quietly in agreement.

“Rubbish!” Hagrid huffed. “Why would he?” 

Harry and Cheyenne looked silently at one another, neither failing to notice how Hagrid couldn’t quite meet either of their gazes when he said that. 

“How’s yer brother Charlie?” Hagrid turned his attention to Ron now, “I liked him a lot, he was great with animals.” 

Cheyenne sighed, sensing that was Hagrid’s silent way of saying he didn’t want to talk about this anymore and sipped her tea slowly as she allowed her gaze to wander to the piece of paper Harry pulled out from under the tea cozy while Ron told Hagrid about Charlie’s work with dragons. It looked like a clipping from this morning’s Daily Prophet, which read: 

**GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST**   
_Investigations concerning the break-in at Gringotts on 31st July continue, although the break-in itself is widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards and witches unknown._   
_Today Gringotts goblins are insisting nothing has been taken, as the vault that had been searched had already been emptied earlier that same day._   
_“We will not be divulging what was in the vault beforehand, so I would suggest all of you keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” a Gringotts spokesgoblin said this afternoon._

Harry and Cheyenne looked at one another again, remembering what Ron had told them on the train about someone who had tried to rob Gringotts, although he’d forgotten to mention the exact day. 

“Hagrid!” Harry spoke up to regain the giant’s attention, “that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday, when you took Chey and I to Diagon Alley! It must’ve been happening while we were still there!”

This time, it was very obvious Hagrid was not comfortable with this subject; he refused to meet either Harry or Cheyenne’s eyes as he grunted and offered the two of them each another rock cake. Cheyenne took the paper clipping from Harry to look it over again, frowning quietly to herself at the mention of the vault searched having been emptied earlier that very same day. One of the vaults they’d visited had been vault seven hundred and thirteen, in which Hagrid had taken out that grubby little package he’d needed to bring here to Hogwarts. Could that package have been what the thieves had been looking for? Perhaps…but then, there had to have been hundreds, if not thousands, of different vaults buried deep under Gringotts…

Harry, Ron, and Cheyenne left Hagrid’s around sunset, when dinner was due to be served, each of their pockets weighed down with the rock cakes they’d been too polite to refuse. Cheyenne’s mind was awhirl with everything they’d learned over tea. If vault seven hundred and thirteen had been the targeted vault for the thieves, had Hagrid collected the package just in time that day? Cheyenne’s eyes swept to the looming shadow of the castle ahead of them as they crossed the lawn toward it, wondering in which of its many hidden passageways and locked chambers the package could be hiding now. Was it safe? Was there something about Snape Hagrid wasn’t telling them? 


	7. The Midnight Duel

In their entire lives, neither Harry nor Cheyenne would have ever thought they could meet anyone more obnoxious and conceited than Dudley. That is, until they had the misfortune to meet Draco Malfoy. 

Fortunately for the pair, they only had to endure his presence when first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins had Potions together. Or they did until the day they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that announced they would be starting their Flying lessons on Thursday…with the Slytherins.

“Typical…” Harry groaned, “I’d always wanted to make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy…” 

Cheyenne frowned and squeezed Harry’s shoulder reassuringly, knowing he’d been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.

“I’m sure you won’t make a fool of yourself, Harry.” He gave her a look and she shook her head, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking, “Malfoy’s talked a lot about how good he is at Quidditch, but that could be all it is, Harry, talk.”

“You know she’s right, Harry, he seems the type.” Ron agreed. Harry frowned but nodded quietly in agreement himself; Malfoy had certainly talked a lot about flying, often alternating between complaining about first years not being allowed to try out for the house Quidditch teams and telling long, boastful stories that, more often than not, ended with him just narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. And he wasn’t the only one: from the way Seamus Finnigan explained it, he’d spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on a broomstick and even Ron liked telling anyone that would listen about the time he’d nearly hit a hang glider on his brother, Charlie’s, old broom. Quidditch was a constant topic for those who had come from wizarding families. From what Harry told her, Cheyenne had already heard about the argument Ron had had with Dean Thomas, one of their dorm mates, about soccer. Ron hadn’t the faintest idea how a game played on the ground with one ball could be exciting. Harry had even told Cheyenne about how he’d caught Ron prodding Dean’s poster of the West Ham soccer team to see if the players would move.

Neville was one of the few from a wizarding family who had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had kept him from going near one. When Neville told them this, Harry and Cheyenne had looked at one another, silently agreeing that she’d had a pretty good reason for it, seeing as how Neville was prone to any number of accidents even with his feet set firmly on the ground. 

Hermione meanwhile, was just as nervous about flying as Neville. It was understandable, considering she’d come from a Muggle family and knew nothing about brooms or Quidditch. Unfortunately for her, though, flying was not something that could be learnt from a book.

 _(You have to give her points for trying, though…)_ Cheyenne thought to herself Thursday morning as Hermione rattled off some flying tips she’d gotten out of a library book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_ to the rest of the first years. While the rest of their year did their best to ignore her, Cheyenne listened with half amused interest and Neville hung onto her every word, desperate for anything that could help him stay on his broomstick later that afternoon. The arrival of the mail, though, was a very welcome distraction. 

Although Cheyenne continued to correspond with Arabella several times a week, Harry hadn’t gotten a single letter since Hagrid’s note, something Malfoy was very quick to pick up on. Malfoy, meanwhile, got a daily delivery of sweets brought to him from home by his eagle owl, which he liked to open gloatingly at the Slytherin table every morning. 

A barn owl fluttered down to land in front of Neville, carrying a small package from his grandmother. Neville opened it excitedly and pulled out a small glass ball, only the size of a large marble, which looked to be full of white smoke. 

“It’s a Remembrall!” He explained, holding it between his index and middle fingers and his thumb. “Gran knows I tend to forget things – this will tell you if there’s something you’ve lost or forgotten to do. If you just hold it tight like this and it turns red – oh…” His face fell as the smoke inside the Remembrall turned a brilliant scarlet color, “…you’ve forgotten something…”

Screwing up his face in concentration, Neville was so busy trying to remember what he’d forgotten that he wasn’t fast enough to stop Draco Malfoy, who was just passing the Gryffindor table, from snatching the Remembrall from his hand. 

Harry and Ron were immediately on their feet, always ready for a fight against Malfoy. Professor McGonagall was on the scene in a flash, always one to spot trouble the quickest out of any of her colleagues. 

“What’s going on here?” She quirked a brow, sweeping her gaze over the group. 

“Malfoy’s got my Remembrall, Professor.” 

Malfoy scowled and dropped the Remembrall back onto the table. 

“I was only looking.” He grumbled before he sloped away toward the Slytherin table with Crabbe and Goyle in tow. 

A beautifully clear blue sky greeted the young Gryffindors as they descended the castle’s front steps that afternoon, a pleasant breeze rolling in to greet them as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat section of the grounds. Directly behind them, the trees of the forbidden forest swayed darkly. 

The Slytherins were waiting for them, as were twenty broomsticks lying in neat rows on the ground. Harry and Cheyenne remembered Fred and George’s warning about how the school brooms often vibrated if you flew too high or flew slightly to the left. 

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, was an older woman with short, gray hair, and brilliant yellow eyed that reminded them of a hawk.

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” She barked, her hands on her hips. “Everyone pick a broomstick and stand by it. Come on, hurry up.” 

Cheyenne glanced at her broom with a frown; the wood was chipped and faded, and it was missing some bristles from its tail. 

“Now, stick your right hand out over your broom.” Madam Hooch called from the front of the group, “and say ‘Up!’”

“UP!” Everyone shouted together.

Cheyenne’s broom jumped immediately into her hand, although hers’ was one of the few that did. On her left, Hermione’s broom simply rolled over on the ground, while Neville’s hadn’t moved at all. Cheyenne glanced to her right and caught Harry’s eye wondering for a moment if brooms were like horses in how they could tell when a potential rider was afraid. The evident quaver in Neville’s voice said only too clearly, he’d rather keep both his feet on the ground. 

Once everyone had their broomsticks in hand, Madam Hooch showed the class how to mount them properly without risk of sliding off the end, then spent a few minutes walking up and down the rows, correcting their grips and positions. Harry and Ron exchanged a grin when Madam Hooch told Malfoy he’d been doing it wrong for years, causing the boy to scowl. 

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you will kick off form the ground, hard,” Madam Hooch said as she returned to the front. “Keep your brooms steady, rise just a few feet, then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle –“ She raised the instrument in question to her lips, “Three – two – “

Before Madam Hooch could even bring the whistle to her mouth, Neville, anxious at the idea of being the only one left on the ground, pushed off hard from the ground.

“Come back here, boy!” Madam Hooch shouted, but to no avail as she and the rest of the class watched Neville rise straight up into the air, like a cork being shot out of its bottle. Cheyenne felt her heart clench empathically when she saw more color drain from Neville’s face the further he went, his eyes widen saucers staring in terror as he left the ground behind. His mouth fell open in a soundless gasp as his body suddenly slid sideways on the broom and her’s popped open as well, his name just on the tip of her tongue –

Her ability to speak fled her as a sickening crunch accompanied the sound of Neville’s body slamming into the ground. Cheyenne reflexively flinched and stared down at the heap he’d become with the rest of their class. None of them seemed to notice as his broomstick continued to steadily rise higher and drift lazily out of sight toward the forbidden forest. 

Madam Hooch hurried to where Neville lay face-down and knelt to get a better look at him, her face as white as a sheet. 

“Broken wrist,” She muttered, half to herself. “C’mon boy – it’s all right, up you get.” 

She helped Neville to his feet and turned to the rest of the class with a stern frown. 

“All of you are to remain here while I take this boy up to the hospital wing! If I see a single broom in the air, the one riding it will be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, dear.”

Putting a careful arm around Neville’s trembling shoulders, Madam Hooch led him toward the castle while he clutched his wrist. His quiet sniffles slowly faded after them as they crossed the lawn toward the castle’s entrance.

Obnoxious laughter burst from Malfoy’s lips as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Did you see the look on the great lump’s face?” 

The other Slytherin’s laughter soon joined his. 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Parvati Patil snapped, glaring at the blond young man. 

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom are you, Patil?” Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl with a squished looking nose and squinty eyes, sneered. “Never thought you’d go for fat little crybabies.” 

“Better than fancying a spoiled little daddy’s boy, Parkinson.” Cheyenne shot back; Pansy narrowed her eyes, glaring, as Cheyenne wrinkled her nose back at her. 

“Look!” Malfoy said suddenly, drawing the class’s attention as he dashed forward to snatch something out of the grass. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.” 

The sun glinted brilliantly off the glass surface of the Remembrall as he held it between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Give it here, Malfoy.” Harry said with a scowl. Everyone immediately stopped whatever they were doing and turned their full attention on the pair, looking between the two with anticipation. Malfoy smirked, his eyes flashing nastily. 

“Hm, no, I really think I should leave this somewhere for Longbottom to find,” He twirled the Remembrall in his fingers and peered at it, appearing thoughtful, “How about up a tree?”

“Harry told you to hand it over, Malfoy!” Cheyenne glared at him, watching in exasperation as he leapt onto his broomstick and took off. Even if neither she nor Harry wanted to admit it, Malfoy definitely knew how to fly; bringing himself level with the topmost branches of a nearby oak, he turned his broom to smirk back at them, “You two want it so badly, come and get it, Powter!”

Anger and frustration boiling in the pits of their stomach, neither of the friends hesitated to grab their brooms, too. 

“No!” Hermione grabbed the end of Cheyenne’s broom to stop her, giving her a stern look, “Cheyenne, you heard what Madam Hooch said – the two of you do this and we’re all going to get into trouble.” 

“Malfoy’s going to get us all into trouble anyway for being a show off. Besides, he needs to be knocked down a few pegs.” Cheyenne mounted her broom, ignoring Hermione’s indignant stare as she kicked off, hard, from the ground, her heart pounding in her chest, drumming a beat against her ribs as blood rushed behind her ears. All of this melted away, though, as she rose, air blowing the hair back away from her face and whipping her robes dramatically behind her, like a bird’s tail feathers. Cheyenne looked down and an overwhelming wave of excitement and adrenaline crashed over her at the realization that she was actually flying. This must be how a bird must feel every day, being able to fly so freely above the earth that they were practically untouchable.

Catching each other’s eye, Harry and Cheyenne exchanged bright, excited smiles and pulled their broomsticks up to go higher while several girls below them screamed and gasped and Ron whooped in admiration. 

Turning their broomsticks sharply, the duo brought themselves to Malfoy’s level and faced him directly. He stared at them with wide eyes, stunned.

“Final warning, Malfoy, hand over the Remembrall.” Cheyenne said, taking one hand off her broom to extend it toward him, waiting. 

“Or what?” Malfoy attempted a sneer, but failed, the worry pulling the corners of his lips down and making his brow furrow. 

“Or we’ll knock you off your broom!” Harry told him.

“I’d like to see you two try!” Malfoy challenged. 

Without even having to say anything to one another, Harry and Cheyenne just let their bodies take over, almost like they already knew what needed to be done. Leaning forward and grasping their brooms tight in both hands, they took turns barreling toward Malfoy, one after the other. Malfoy just barely dodged Harry and Cheyenne clipped his sleeve on her way past; the duo made a couple of sharp about-faces and steadied their brooms again while the sounds of the crowd clapping drifted up from the ground below. 

“No Crabbe or Goyle to save your neck up here, Malfoy.” Harry called; realization dawned on Malfoy’s pale face, the weak sneer giving way into an almost fearful expression. 

“Catch it if you can, then!” He shouted as he arched his arm and threw the glass ball high into the air before he streaked back for the ground. 

The world slowed to a crawl in that moment as Harry and Cheyenne watched the ball rise in a narrow arc before gravity grabbed hold of it again and sent it free-falling back toward the earth. Cheyenne accessed the ball’s path for a few brief seconds as Harry took off after it, seeing her best friend would just barely miss it as she pointed her broom down and barreled after him, racing both him and the ball – wind whipped past her, whistling in her ears and whipping her hair out in a long banner of dirty blond waves, drowning out the sound of their classmates screaming behind them – she shot out her hand just as the ball slipped past Harry’s fingers, her hand curling around the cool glass surface just as she tried to straighten her broom out again and felt something warm press in on her left. Before she knew what had happened, she was on the grass, staring up at the clear cyan sky overhead, clutching the Remembrall firmly in her fist. 

“Chey?” She turned to her left, seeing Harry had toppled off his broom onto the grass beside her and was now staring at her with wide eyes, “D-did you –?”

Cheyenne smiled and lifted her right hand, “I got it.”

“HARRY POTTER AND CHEYENNE POWER!” The smile that had started to spread across Harry’s face abruptly vanished as he and Cheyenne lifted their heads to find the source of the voice, their hearts sinking. From across the lawn, they spotted Professor McGonagall running toward them. Harry and Cheyenne got slowly to their feet, their legs suddenly feeling like lead. 

“Never – in my entire career –“

Professor McGonagall was nearly trembling when she reached them and couldn’t quite seem to string a proper sentence together in that moment. When she looked at them, her glasses flashed furiously in the sunlight. “How dare the two of you – could have broken your necks –“ 

“It wasn’t their fault, Professor –“

“Be quiet, Miss Patil –“

“But Malfoy –“

“That quite enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, Power, you two follow me, now.” 

Harry and Cheyenne looked at one another silently, catching sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle’s triumphant sneers as they left. Neither could quite seem to summon back the burning fury they’d felt before, though, as they followed Professor McGonagall back toward the castle; neither could really feel anything in that moment, except for an all-consuming numbness at knowing what was to come next. They were going to be expelled…they hadn’t even lasted two weeks…what would Arabella and the Dursleys say when the duo returned so soon…? Cheyenne already knew her grandmother would be severely disappointed in her and wouldn’t have been surprised if Arabella ended up grounding her for this little stunt, but…what about Harry…? If she had to venture a guess, it would be that the Durlseys would be more than thrilled to hear Harry had flunked out of school and wouldn’t be able to become a wizard after all. 

_(There must be some way to change Professor McGonagall’s mind about this, if not for both of us, then for Harry…this is where he really belongs…in our whole lives, I’ve never seen him as happy as he has been here…he has to stay…)_ Cheyenne thought quietly to herself as she and Harry followed Professor McGonagall up the marble staircase; their teacher didn’t say a single word to either of them as she swept along the corridors, moving at such a pace the pair almost had to jog just to keep up, nor did she turn to look at them. _(There must be something I can say that could change her mind…anything would work at this point…)_

While Professor McGonagall led them through doors and along a myriad of different corridors, Cheyenne formulated the best argument she could in her best friend’s defense, gathered her courage, and opened her mouth to speak, ignoring the knot in her stomach.

“P-P-Pro-Profess –“ 

“Wait here.” Professor McGonagall interrupted, gesturing for Harry and Cheyenne to stay while she poked her head around the door of the Charms classroom. 

“Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment, please?” 

_(Wood?)_ Cheyenne blinked in bewilderment, looking at Harry again as he frowned, _(Are we about to get caned?!)_

Instead of stepping out of the classroom with the dreaded piece of wood, however, Professor McGonagall was followed out by a burly fifth year. He nodded to Harry and Cheyenne, his brow knit in confusion. 

“Follow me, you three,” Professor McGonagall said and set off at another brisk march up the corridor. Wood glanced at Harry and Cheyenne again as they followed her. 

“In here.” 

Professor McGonagall ushered the trio into an unused classroom, where Peeves was happily writing swear words on the blackboard. 

“Out, Peeves!” Professor McGonagall barked, giving him a hard look. Peeves wrinkled his nose as he tossed the chalk into a bin with a loud clang and swooped out, cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door after him before she turned to face her students. 

“Potter, Power, this is Oliver Wood. Wood – I have found you a Seeker and his Helper.” 

Excitement and delight immediately replaced the confusion on Wood’s face. 

“Are you serious, Professor?” 

“Absolutely.” Professor McGonagall answered briskly. “They’re both naturals, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. That was your first time on broomsticks, wasn’t it, Potter, Power?”

“Y-Yes, m-m-ma’am.” Cheyenne stuttered, looking slowly between Professor McGonagall and Wood as the situation slowly sank in. So they weren’t being expelled…?

“Power caught that thing in her hand after a fifty-foot dive, after Potter just barely missed it.” Professor McGonagall explained to Wood, almost smiling now, almost. “Neither of them even scratched themselves, I don’t think Charlie Weasley would’ve even been able to do that.” 

Wood was practically beaming now, his eyes shining bright like the stars in the night sky, looking as though all his dreams had come true at once. 

“Either of you ever seen a game of Quidditch?” He asked them excitedly. 

“Wood’s the captain of the Gryffindor house team,” Professor McGonagall explained.

“They’ve both got just the right build for a Seeker and Helper, too.” Wood said as he walked slowly around Harry and Cheyenne, looking at them from each angle, “He’s small, light, which will make him quite speedy – she’s not quite as small as he is, but she’s sturdy, good for protection, but looks quick enough to keep up with him, too. We’ll need to get them each a decent broom, Professor – a couple of Nimbus Two Thousands or Cleansweep Sevens, I’d say.” 

“I’ll speak to Professor Dumbledore about bending the first-year rule this once. Heaven only knows, we need a better team than the one we had last year, after we were flattened in that final match against Slytherin…I couldn’t bring myself to look Severus Snape in the face for weeks…”

Professor McGonagall paused then to peer sternly at Harry and Cheyenne over the rim of her glasses. 

“I want to hear the two of you are training hard, Potter, Power, or I might just change my mind about punishing you both.” 

Then a smile suddenly tugged up the corners of her lips.

“Your parents would’ve been proud; they were quite the accomplished Quidditch players themselves.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“You’re joking.” Ron gaped at Harry and Cheyenne as they finished recounting the events of the afternoon. The piece of steak and kidney pie raised halfway to his mouth was now forgotten. 

_“Seeker and Helper?”_ he breathed, dropping his fork onto his plate with a loud clatter, “But first years never – the two of you must be the youngest house players in about –“

“- a century.” Cheyenne finished while Harry shoveled pie into his mouth. That afternoon’s excitement had left him feeling particularly famished tonight, “Wood’s told us already.” 

Ron just continued to gap at Harry and Cheyenne with wide eyes, his mouth left agape. 

“We start our training next week,” Harry explained, allowing Cheyenne a chance to dig into her own food, “Just be sure you don’t tell anyone about this, Wood wants to keep it a secret.” 

A tap on her shoulder drew Cheyenne’s attention away from her food, a piece of pork chop and mashed potatoes half raised to her mouth; Fred swooped in to intercept the bite of food and grinned at her as she whirled around to glare at him. 

“Well done, Harry, Cheyenne.” George said in a low voice, clapping Harry on the back with a smile, “Wood’s just told us the good news. We’re the Beaters for the Gryffindor team.” 

“I’m telling you, we’re going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year,” Fred grinned, putting an arm around Cheyenne, whose blush deepened at the contact, “We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year’s team is going to be brilliant. The two of you must be good, eh, Cheyenne, if you and Harry can make Wood look like he was on cloud nine.” 

“Anyway, we’ve got to get going, Lee Jordan reckons he’d found a new secret passageway out of the castle.” George pat Harry’s back again as he straightened. 

“I’ll bet it’s that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy we found in our first week.” Fred straightened, too, squeezing Cheyenne’s shoulder before he let go, grinning at her, “See you later.” 

“Y-yeah, later…” Cheyenne murmured, watching the twins leave the Great Hall as someone far less welcome approached their table. When she turned, Malfoy was smirking at her and Harry, flanked, like usual, but Crabbe and Goyle. Each still had the same triumphant looks they’d been sporting when Professor McGonagall had taken the duo away. 

“Having a last meal, Powter?” Malfoy taunted, his hands on his hips, “When’re you two boarding the train back to the Muggles?” 

“He’s a lot braver now that he’s back on the ground, isn’t he?” Harry said, mockingly, to Cheyenne, who nodded her head in agreement. 

“Especially now that he can cower behind his little friends again. Rather pathetic, if you ask me.” She leaned her head against her hand, feigning boredom as she pushed her food around her plate and ignored the sound of Crabbe and Goyle cracking their knuckles behind her. While neither could rightly be considered little in any sense of the word, there was not much that they could do to either her or Harry here, especially not with the High Table at the back of the hall full of teachers. 

“I’d take either of you on at any time by myself,” Malfoy sniffed indignantly. “Even tonight, if you’d like. I’ll have a wizard’s duel with each of you. Wands only – no contact.” He eyed Harry and Cheyenne, a superior smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, “What’s the matter, has neither of you heard of a wizard’s duel before?” 

“Of course, they have,” Ron snipped, spinning round in his chair to face them, “I’ll be their second. Who’s yours?” 

Malfoy looked between Crabbe and Goyle thoughtfully before indicating to Crabbe with one hand, “Crabbe.” He turned back to the trio, “We’ll meet at midnight, in the trophy room; it’s always left unlocked.” 

Harry, Cheyenne, and Ron each gave a curt nod and watched Malfoy waltz back toward the Slytherin table before they looked at one another again. 

“What is a wizard’s duel?” Harry asked with pinched eyebrows as he addressed Ron, “And what’d you mean, you’re our second?”

“There’s always a second in a wizard’s duel in case the first person dies.” Ron said, as casually as though they were talking about the weather as he turned back to his now cold pie. Harry’s eyes widened and he whirled to look at Cheyenne in shock, but she smiled reassuringly, reaching across the table to squeeze his arm. 

“Don’t worry, Harry, nothing like that is going to happen in this match. I’ve read death only happens in a proper wizard duel, with witches and wizards with far more learning than we’ve had.” Harry seemed to relax a little, nodding slowly in agreement, “I think the most you, I, or Malfoy will be able to really do is shoot sparks at one another, since we don’t really know that much magic yet, let alone any that could cause any real damage.”

“Malfoy probably expected the two of you to refuse anyway.” Ron said around a mouthful of food. 

“What should we do if we wave our wands and nothing happens?” Harry cocked his head as Cheyenne returned to her own plate. Ron shrugged, completely nonchalant.

“Just throw your wands away and punch him in the nose. I’m sure the two of you could make him look better.” Ron snickered as Cheyenne chuckled into her goblet, but froze as she felt a presence behind her. 

“Excuse me.” 

Harry and Ron looked up as Cheyenne slowly put her goblet down and turned. Hermione was standing directly behind her, frowning deeply at her and the boys in disapproval. 

“Can’t a person eat in peace around here?” Ron grumbled, glowering at her. Hermione ignored him, her focus on Harry and Cheyenne.

“I couldn’t help but overhear what the two of you were talking with Malfoy about –“

“Bet you could…” Ron muttered sourly. 

“ – and neither of you should go wandering around the school at night, just think of the points you could lost Gryffindor if you’re caught!” Hermione looked sternly at Cheyenne, “Cheyenne, you know you’re bound to get caught! Please see some sense and don’t do something so selfish!”

“This is really none of your business.” Harry told her coolly, narrowing his eyes before Cheyenne could open her mouth to speak. “So, we’d appreciate it if you’d butt out.”

“Good-bye.” Ron said, waving a hand dismissively. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

While the boys were so quick to dismiss Hermione’s words of advice, Cheyenne found it rather difficult to shake the feeling that she was right as she sat with Harry and Ron in the common room that evening, half listening to Ron’s advice for their dual against Malfoy as she tried to ignore the feeling of eyes burning into the back of her head. Without having to look, she knew it had to be Hermione; no one else would be staring so intensely, like they were trying to beam their thoughts into the trio’s minds. Cheyenne frowned quietly at the thought and sighed to herself, already knowing there was going to be a lecture of some kind coming her way as soon as Hermione could get her alone…even if she hadn’t known her new friend for that long, Cheyenne already knew Hermione wasn’t the type to give up quite so easily when it came to something she strongly believed in. 

“You aren’t honestly going to go through with this, are you, Cheyenne?”

Cheyenne didn’t even look up at the voice as she picked up her hair brush, “Hermione, please…”

“You must know just ridiculous this all this, Cheyenne!” Hermione plowed on with a frown, “While I admit it was impressive watching you and Harry catch Neville’s Remembrall, you two are really pushing your luck breaking yet another school rule! You’re bound to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris and expelled for sure this time. What would your grandmother say if she knew what you were about to do?” 

“Nan would be all for putting a bully like Malfoy in his proper place.” Cheyenne set the brush back on the bedside table, still without looking at her roommate, feeling her stomach tighten guiltily. Arabella had always encouraged Cheyenne to stand up for herself against bullies, especially knowing what she had to endure from Dudley in school previously, but would her grandmother really want her to jeopardize her education to do so? 

“If what happened this afternoon hasn’t put Malfoy in his place by now, nothing will and you know it.” Hermione put a hand on Cheyenne’s shoulder, “Bullies like Malfoy don’t change, Chey…you shouldn’t waste your time or energy on him. It’s what he wants.” 

Cheyenne inhaled slowly through her nose and then exhaled on a sigh, rubbing her neck, “You’re right…it’s a waste letting him get under my skin like this.” She turned slowly to face Hermione, who smiled, “But I’ve known Harry my entire life, Hermione and once his mind is made up, he’s as stubborn as mule. He’s all for this duel tonight.” 

“Then I’ll have to be there to help you convince him.” Hermione nodded promptly as she turned to get herself ready for bed. Cheyenne snorted as she perched herself on top of her trunk. “I dunno Hermione…he hardly listens to me when he’s like this…and with how well he listened at dinner…” 

“Don’t you worry about that, if there’s two of us, it’s bound to work. Besides, you’ve been his best friend since you two were little, haven’t you?” Cheyenne nodded quietly, “That has to have some kind of sway. If we work together, we’ll make him change his mind.”

“Sure hope you’re right about that…” Cheyenne murmured to herself as she glanced out the window, leaning her chin against her bent knee while the stars winked at them from the black velvet blanket that was the sky. 

Hermione and Cheyenne spent the next couple of hours discussing how to best approach this subject with the boys, knowing it was going to be difficult trying to convince them to change their minds. They were careful to talk in hushed tones as the rest of their roommates drifted up from the common room and got ready for bed, even long after they knew the other girls were fast asleep so as not to risk being overheard. 

“Half-past eleven.” Cheyenne muttered as she checked her watch, “Harry and Ron’ll be expecting me in the common room now so we can head out.”

“Right.” Hermione grabbed her pink robe and stuffed her wand into the right pocket, “Might as well have it, just in case.” She pointed out when Cheyenne only stared. A weak smile tugged at the other girls’ lips as she nodded and followed suit, stuffing her own wand into the pocket of her bathrobe before they stole out of the tower room, being mindful not to disturb any of the others on their way out. 

The Gryffindor common room was now mostly empty, the weak light cast from the few embers still glowing in the fireplace throwing looming, black shadows across the walls that would give any poor, unsuspecting pupil nightmares. Harry and Ron were waiting for Cheyenne by the portrait hole, their frowns deepening when they saw Hermione follow her down the spiral staircase. 

“What is she doing here?” Ron hissed, glowering at Hermione. 

“I’ve come to talk some sense into the two of you. Cheyenne’s finally seen reason.” Hermione frowned back at him. Harry glanced between the two, his brow furrowing as his gaze finally settled on his best friend.

“Chey –“

“I’m sorry, Harry…but you know Hermione’s right on this one…” Cheyenne gave him an apologetic look, “As much as I want to knock Malfoy down a couple more pegs like he deserves, you have to know going through with this is pushing our luck…we got lucky this afternoon that it was Professor McGonagall who caught us flying and not Madam Hooch, but you know good luck is bound to run out at some point…what happens if we’re caught tonight and expelled? Do you really want to risk never being allowed back here…the one place you’ve been truly happy?”

Cheyenne stepped toward Harry and gently grabbed his arm, squeezing softly, looking pleadingly into his eyes, “Please, Harry…see reason…”

Harry’s brow furrowed as he stared back into Cheyenne’s eyes; she could see his conviction wavering, allowing a glimmer of doubt to peek through. Her hand slid into his and she gave him a weak smile, a silent plea for him to understand their side of the argument. He waffled, but she knew he was starting to reconsider. 

“Cheyenne is right, Harry,” Hermione’s voice broke the connection and something in Harry’s expression shifted; his features tightened, like he’d just pulled on a mask, his earlier conviction returning as he took a step back, his hand slipping from hers’. Cheyenne’s heart sank into the pit of her stomach from a combination of knowing they’d lost him and the glower he was now giving her, like she’d somehow betrayed him. 

“Come on, we’re going.” He said to Ron, spinning on his heel to push open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climb out into the corridor.

“Harry, wait!” Cheyenne scrambled out of the portrait hole after Harry and Ron, Hermione right on her heels. 

“Do the two of you only care about yourselves?” she hissed after the boys with narrowed eyes, “Honestly, if you both continue as you do, you’re not only going to get yourselves expelled, but you’re also going to lose us all the points Cheyenne and I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells and Slytherin is going to win the house cup again!”

“Go away.” Ron growled back at her as Cheyenne tried to grab Harry’s arm to stop him; he didn’t even turn to look at her, just shook her hand off as he continued down the nearest staircase. 

“Harry, please, don’t do this…you’re going to lose everything if you get caught tonight.” She pled, wishing more than anything he would just look at her. “Harry –“

“I’m doing this, Cheyenne.” Her stomach tightened and she stopped dead in her tracks, right in the middle of the staircase; Harry never said her full first name unless they were talking about something really serious or he was very, very angry. “With or without you.” 

“Now what are we going to do?!” Hermione’s shrill voice made Cheyenne wince and she glanced over her shoulder as Ron squeezed by her; Hermione stared incredulously after the redhead and, behind her, Cheyenne spotted the source of her agitation: the portrait guarding the entrance to Gryffindor tower, usually occupied by the Fat Lady they’d all come to know well over their first couple of weeks, was now empty. They were locked out. 

“That’s your problem now.” Ron said over his shoulder as he hurried after Harry, “We’ve got to go or we’re going to be late.” 

Cheyenne sighed softly as she started after the boys, “C’mon, Hermione, we might as well go with them now since we can’t get back into the common room.” She paused at the bottom of the staircase when she didn’t hear Hermione’s footsteps behind her, glancing back to be sure she was following; they caught up with the boys by the time they reached the end of the first corridor. 

“We’re coming with you.” Hermione told them briskly.

“No, you’re not.” Ron growled at the two. 

“D’you really think we’re just going to stand out here and wait for Filch to come along to catch us? If he finds the four of us, Chey and I will just tell him the truth, that we were trying to stop you both, and you can back us up.” 

“You’ve got some nerve –“ Ron started, his voice raising.

“Shh!” Cheyenne shushed him quickly, putting a finger to her lips while Harry held up a hand to stop the group, glancing ahead uneasily. Cheyenne noticed his gaze, “What is it?”

“I think I just heard something.” 

The four paused to listen; somewhere further down the corridor, they could hear a muffled sound, low, deep, like someone snoring.

“Mrs. Norris?” Ron breathed, squinting his eyes in an effort to see through the dark as their group advanced cautiously forward. It wasn’t long until the four spotted a large, humanoid form curled up in a ball on the floor; it was far too big to be Mrs. Norris and, as they crept closer, the figure jerked awake suddenly, lifting its head until they saw a familiar, pudgy face. 

“Neville?”

Relief replaced the fear and anxiety that had been present on his features when he awoke, “Oh, thank goodness you’ve found me! I’ve been out here for hours; I couldn’t remember the new password to get into the tower for bed.” 

“Shh, keep your voice down, Neville.” Cheyenne soothed, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I’d give you the password now, but I’m afraid it isn’t going to be of much help for you at the moment, it looks like the Fat Lady’s gone off somewhere.”

“How’s your arm?” Harry cocked his head.

“All better.” Neville lifted his arm to show them. “Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute.”

“Glad to hear it.” Cheyenne smiled in relief as Harry nodded his head, glancing around the corridor. 

“Look Neville, we’d stay and talk, but we’ve really got to be somewhere, we’ll see you later –“ 

“Don’t leave me alone!” Neville said, his face pale as he scrambled to his feet, “Please, I can’t be here alone anymore, the Bloody Baron’s already been past twice…”

Ron glanced at his watch before he gave Hermione, Neville, and Cheyenne a heated look.

“If any of you gets us caught, I swear I’ll never rest until I’ve learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and used it on each and every one of you.

Hermione opened her mouth, ready to tell Ron exactly how to use the aforementioned curse, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned for her and the others to follow him. 

As they crept along shadowed corridors and dodged around strips of moonlight that filtered in through the windows built high into the stone walls, Cheyenne was struck by how eerie the castle was, draped as it was in the late-night silence. The corridors they transversed during the day were almost unrecognizable in the still darkness, like they’d entered an entirely new world, bringing forth a new layer of unease and anxiety atop what they’d already been feeling. Cheyenne could swear she could feel her heartbeat in her ears as they walked and she subconsciously moved closer to Harry, her hand finding his instinctively, finding comfort in his presence. His fingers automatically wound through hers’, their grip tightening with each corner they rounded in anticipation of coming face to face with Filch or Mrs. Norris. Luck was still on their side, though and they ran into no one else on their journey as they hurried up a staircase to the third floor and slipped silently into the trophy room. 

Moonlight glimmered off the crystal trophy cases that lined the walls, glinting beautifully off the silver and gold cups, shields, plates, and statues decorating the shelves inside, but there was neither hide nor hair of either Malfoy or Crabbe. The group moved carefully along the walls, keeping a close eye on the doors on either side of the room. Harry pulled his wand out of his bathrobe, ready in case Malfoy charged in and started straight away. The minutes ticked by. 

“They’re late.” Cheyenne murmured, checking her watch.

“Maybe Malfoy’s chickened out?” 

Harry frowned, looking at Cheyenne, then Ron and opening his mouth to say something when a noise in the next room made them jump. He whirled in the direction of the noise, raising his wand as a voice floated in through the door they’d entered, a voice that made their hearts sink. 

“Sniff around, my sweet, they could be lurking in a corner.” 

Filch! Cheyenne’s eyes found Harry’s, wide with panic and fear; without even having to say a word, Harry stuffed his wand back into his robe, grabbed Cheyenne’s hand and gestured to the other three to follow as they hurried for the opposite door, away from Filch’s voice. They’d just barely slipped out of the room when they heard the caretaker’s footsteps behind them, his voice far too close for their comfort. 

“They’re in here somewhere,” they could hear him mutter, “probably hiding.” 

“This way!” Harry and Cheyenne mouthed to the others, carefully leading the way down a long gallery full of suits of armor, mindful to keep their tread light, but quick so as not to draw too much attention to themselves. Behind them, they could hear Filch’s footsteps and voice drawing closer as they moved until, unable to bear the pressure any longer, Neville gave a sudden, frightened squeak and broke into a run. He’d barely taken more than a couple of steps, however, when he tripped over his own too feet, grabbing Ron around the waist on the way down as they toppled right into a nearby suit of armor. It went crashing to the floor, the sound of the metal pieces clanging off the stone floor and one another so deafening, they were all sure it would be enough to wake the entire castle. 

“RUN!” Cheyenne screamed as they sprinted down the gallery, none of them brave enough to even think about looking back to see if they were being followed – at the gallery entrance, they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor after another with Harry and Cheyenne leading the charge, neither quite sure where they were in that moment or even knowing where they were going – through an tapestry, they raced down a hidden passageway, which let out near their Charms classroom. The five took the opportunity to catch their breath, thankful for the reprieve since they knew they were a good enough distance from the trophy room now. 

“I-I think we…lost him,” Harry panted, leaning back into the cold stone wall as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Cheyenne leaned in beside him, putting her free hand on Neville’s back to make sure he was okay as he was bent double, his hands braced on his knees, wheezing and spluttering.

“I – warned – you,” Hermione gasped breathlessly, clutching at a stitch in her chest, glaring at Harry and Ron, “I – warned – you!”

“We have to get back to Gryffindor tower,” Ron panted, straightening up himself, “as quickly as we can.”

“Malfoy tricked you,” Hermione continued, now speaking solely to Harry, “You do realize that, don’t you? He was never going to meet you or Cheyenne – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have been the one to tip him off!”

“You…you know she’s right…Harry,” Cheyenne gasped, looking at her best friend, “Filch couldn’t… have known…someone was going to be in the trophy room…at this time otherwise…” 

Harry glanced at Cheyenne, then Hermione quietly, but just pushed off the wall without saying anything. Cheyenne sighed, silently cursing his ego as she pushed off the wall, too.

“C’mon, let’s get going.” 

There was yet another unknown obstacle the group needed to face before this night was over, however; the five had barely gone another dozen paces when a doorknob to their left rattled and something shot out of the classroom in front of them, blocking their path. 

If any of them had thought this evening couldn’t get any worse, then they’d be sorely mistaken as Peeves caught sight of them and gave a delighted squeal. 

“Shhh, shut up, Peeves!” Harry hissed as Cheyenne shook her head rapidly, her eyes wide, pleading.

“Please, you’re going to get us thrown out!”

Peeves cackled wickedly, “Wandering around at midnight, are you, Ickle Firsties? Tut tut, tut, naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty.”

“Not if you don’t give us away, Peeves,” Hermione clasped her hands in front of her, as though in prayer, “Please.”

“Should tell Filch, I should,” Peeves answered in a falsely sweet voice, tapping his chin thoughtfully as his dark eyes glimmered mischievously, “Tis for your own good, you know.” 

“Get out of our way!” Ron snapped, swiping irritably at Peeves. Big mistake.

Peeves sucked in a big breath and let it out in a booming bellow, “STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” The five covered their ears, feeling the bellow pulse in their temples, “DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!” 

Ducking under Peeves, the pre-teens made a mad dash for the end of the corridor, where they slammed into an old, locked door.

“This is it!” Ron moaned helplessly as they pushed and pulled at the door, trying in vain to open it. “We’re done for! This is the end!”

Somewhere in the distance, they could hear footsteps pounding against the flagstone, drawing closer with each passing second as Filch ran as fast as he could toward Peeves’s shouts. 

“Not yet, it isn’t.” Cheyenne pulled her wand out of her robe and shouldered Harry out of the way to tap the lock, whispering, “Alohomora!”

The sound of the lock sliding out of place made their hearts soar as the door swung inward, allowing them to all pile inside. Cheyenne sighed in relief, stuffing her wand back into her pocket as Harry, Ron, and Hermione shoved the door shut again and pressed their ears against it, listening intently. Vaguely, she could hear the sound of Filch and Peeves’s voices, now muffled through the wooden door as she surveyed their surroundings. What she saw nearly made her heart stop. 

Instead of standing in a room like they’d originally thought, the five of them were standing in a corridor…the very third floor corridor Dumbledore had forbidden them and the rest of the students from entering…for good reason. 

Towering above them, so huge it filled the entire space between ceiling and floor, with a trio of wild, rolling eyes, twitching noses, and wide mouths filled with long, spear-head sized fangs, was a gigantic three-headed dog. It stood shock still, all three sets of eyes staring down at them in surprise at their sudden appearance, although somewhere deep in each throat, Cheyenne could hear the unmistakable sound of a warning growl building, growing louder with each passing second. 

“H-Harry –“Cheyenne’s voice was little more than a high-pitch squeak as she tugged at her best friend’s hand, trying to gain his attention. 

“What -?” Harry turned to see what the problem was, but the words died on his tongue as his eyes met the dog’s dark, narrowed gaze. He tensed and pressed back into the door, groping for the doorknob. Between Filch and the dog, none of them would hesitate to pick facing Filch at this very moment. 

They fell backward onto the flagstones as Harry threw the door open and then slammed it closed behind them before they took off back down the corridor, practically flying now. Filch, thankfully, was nowhere to be seen, probably having gone to look for them somewhere else, although running into him at that moment was the last thing on their minds – the only think any of them cared about now was putting as much space as they could between them and that dog. They didn’t even think to stop running until they’d reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor. 

“And where have you all been?” she asked with a quirked brow as she took in their disheveled appearances, their bathrobes hanging loosely from their shoulders and their faces flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat. 

“Never mind that – pig snout, pig snout!” Harry panted; the portrait swung forward immediately to allow them entrance and the five scrambled into the common room, where they collapsed, trembling, into armchairs. 

It took quite a while before any of them had calmed enough to catch their breath, let alone speak. Neville looked as though he’d never talk again in his life. 

“What do they think they’re doing, keeping something like that locked up in a school?!” Ron huffed, “If any dog needs exercise, that one mostly certainly does.”

Hermione sat up with a scowl then, having recovered both her breath and her foul temper, “None of you use your eyes, do you?” She snapped, straightening her robe. “Didn’t any of you see what it was standing on?”

“The floor?” Harry supplied with a frown.

“The dog did have three heads, Hermione, it was kind of difficult to focus on anything aside from that.” Cheyenne pointed out, hoping to avoid upsetting her friend further. Hermione huffed irritably.

“No, it wasn’t the floor, it was a standing on a trapdoor. That dog is obviously guarding something.” 

She got to her feet in a huff and gave the boys a glare. 

“I hope you’re both quite pleased with yourselves, you could have gotten all of us killed – or worse, expelled. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” 

With those parting words, Hermione turned on her heel and marched across the common room to disappear up the spiral staircase to the girls’ dormitory. Ron stared after her, his mouth open. 

“No, we don’t mind,” He sniffed, turning back to Harry and Cheyenne, “You’d think we dragged her along for the ride, wouldn’t you?” 

Harry and Cheyenne exchanged a silent look, both already turning over Hermione’s words in their heads about the dog and what Hagrid had told them the day he’d taken them school shopping over the summer. What had it been again? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for you to hide something, with the only exception to that being Hogwarts. 

Could it be…? Was that where the grubby little package Hagrid had taken from vault seven hundred and thirteen…was that where it was now hidden?


	8. Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my fellow pack members, 
> 
> I apologize perfusely for being so late in uploading, but you know, rl can be nutzy this time of year, especially with the holidays. I hope everyone had an amazing Halloween and a great Thanksgiving with their families, if they were able to see them. If not, I hope all of you were safe during this whole COVID pandemic and continue to remain so. 
> 
> Before we get on with this chapter, I'd like to thank our regular readers and new ones that have recently found this story. I hope you continue to enjoy my work and read. And I would personally like to thank Ms. FluffoPaws for the comment, I'm really glad you're enjoying my story and I appreciate the feedback.
> 
> But annnyway, on with the story!
> 
> Signed, your alpha, ScarletMarieLeaf

Malfoy’s jaw nearly hit the floor when he saw Harry, Ron, and Cheyenne enter the Great Hall the following morning, sleepy from their late-night escapades but otherwise relatively unharmed and no worse for wear. In fact, by the time Cheyenne met up with the boys in the common room again, they both seemed to be in a rather cheerful mood, although she couldn’t quite place what could have made them so happy, at least, not at first. When she probed them on the subject, Harry explained the reason for their excitement: apparently both boys had thought their run-in with the three-headed dog had been a rather excellent adventure and they were rather keen to have another. Meanwhile, Harry and Cheyenne were sure to fill Ron in about the package Hagrid had taken from Gringotts and had, presumably, brought to Hogwarts for safe keeping. Naturally, this brought up a rather important question: what exactly was in that package that needed such heavy protection?

“Either it’s something really valuable or really dangerous.” Ron said.

“Maybe it’s both?” Harry suggested. 

At this point, all the trio really knew for certain was that the mysterious object was not that big, maybe only about two inches in length, but that was about it. Without any further clues or hints, none of them would even begin to guess what it could possibly be. 

As for Neville and Hermione, neither had the slightest interest in digging further into the purpose of the dog or what could be hidden underneath the trapdoor it was guarding after what they had gone through. At this point, the only thing Neville really cared about was staying as far away from that dog as he possibly could. 

And Hermione, well, she was now refusing to speak to either Harry, Ron, or even Cheyenne herself. In either boys’ eyes, this was a welcome relief and an added bonus overall, since, to them, she was nothing more than a bossy know-it-all, but for Cheyenne, this was a rather devastating blow…

In truth, she could understand both Neville and Hermione’s misgivings after what had happened and, if she was being completely honest, she really had no interest in partaking in another adventure like that one ever again. And yet it was the loss of her new friend that really affected her the most; before coming to Hogwarts, Harry and Cheyenne had had no other friends aside from one another. Don’t get Cheyenne wrong, she loved and cared about her best friend very deeply, she wouldn’t trade him for anything else in the world, but…it was nice having other friends now as well, ones who could understand them in a way they couldn’t one another. They were both growing up and needed friends of the same gender they could turn to when there was something they couldn’t talk about. Harry had another boy he could spend time with now, so was it really so wrong for Cheyenne to wish to have that with a girl her age as well? 

A full week went by before Hermione said a single word to any of them; it was a morning like any other, with the usual flock of owls flooding into the Great Hall to deliver the post, when everyone’s attention was caught by two long thin packages being carried by six large screech owls each. Harry and Cheyenne watched in fascination as the owls circled the hall, curious to know what could be in each of those parcels and who they were to be delivered to. The latter question would quickly be answered when the owls swooped down and, much to their amazement, dropped both parcels down in front of them, knocking each of their plates to the floor. The dozen owls had barely fluttered out of the way when another dropped a letter atop Cheyenne’s parcel.

Exchanging a bewildered look with her best friend, Cheyenne tore the letter open first and held it up so Harry and Ron could read it with her: 

**DO NOT OPEN YOUR PARCELS AT THE TABLE.**   
_They contain your new Nimbus Two Thousands, but I don’t want everyone knowing either of you have a broomstick or they’ll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you both tonight on the Quidditch pitch at seven o’clock for your first training session._   
_Professor McGonagall._

“Two Nimbus Two Thousands?!” Ron groaned enviously under his breath. “I’ve never even _touched_ one!”

Quickly snatching the parcels from the table, the trio made a hasty exit out of the Hall, wanting to unwrap the broomsticks before they had to go to their first lesson of the day. Unfortunately, however, they would be intercepted by Crabbe and Goyle, who were barring their way upstairs, in the Entrance Hall. Malfoy, meanwhile, came up behind them and seized the package Harry was holding, his brow furrowing as he felt what was inside. 

“Broomsticks!” He spat, throwing it back at Harry, his facial expression twisting in an ugly mixture of jealousy and spite. “You’re both in for it this time, Powter, first-years aren’t allowed brooms!”

Ron, glowering at Malfoy throughout the exchange, couldn’t hold his tongue. 

“Those aren’t any old broomsticks,” he straightened his shoulders proudly, as though the broomsticks were his, “They’re Nimbus Two Thousands. And what did you say you’ve got at home again, Malfoy? A Comet Two Sixty, right?” Ron snickered, grinning in Harry and Cheyenne’s direction, “Comets might look flashy, but they aren’t in the same league as the Nimbus.” 

“What would you know about it, Weasley?” Malfoy snapped back, narrowing his cold gray eyes, “I bet you couldn’t even afford half the handle. ‘pose you and your brothers would have to save up for it, twig by twig.” 

Ron’s ears turned pink and he opened his mouth for a retort when Professor Flitwick suddenly appeared at Malfoy’s elbow. 

“Not arguing, I hope?” he squeaked, looking between the six students. Malfoy immediately jumped on the chance.

“Potter and Power’ve been sent broomsticks, Professor.” He told the stout wizard quickly, earning a scowl from Harry and a disappointed frown from Cheyenne. 

“Ah yes.” Professor Flitwick beamed at Harry and Cheyenne, which caught them off guard, “Professor McGonagall’s already told the staff about your special circumstances. What models are they, if you don’t mind the inquiry?” 

“Not at all, Professor Flitwick.” Cheyenne couldn’t hold back the equally brilliant smile that split her lips, ignoring Harry and Ron’s stifled laughter at the horrified expression that crossed Malfoy’s face, “They’re a couple of Nimbus Two Thousands. We should really be thanking Malfoy here, though. If it hadn’t’ve been for him, we wouldn’t have our brooms at all.” She smiled brightly at Malfoy, who could only stare back with wide eyes. “Thank you, Malfoy, we couldn’t have done it without you.” 

His eyes flashed as she walked past him to continue up the stairs while Harry and Ron hurried to follow, doing their best to smother their laughter at seeing the obvious rage and confusion on their enemy’s face.

“Well, it is true, isn’t it?” Cheyenne hummed, her mood significantly improved by the interaction, as the three of them reached the top of the marble staircase.

“It is.” Harry chortled cheerfully, “If Malfoy hadn’t’ve stolen Neville’s Remembrall, neither of us would be on the team…”

“So, I suppose the two of you think that’s a reward for breaking the rules, hm?” An angry voice said from behind them, making them pause and turn. Hermione glowered at them as she stomped up the stairs, eyeing the packages in Harry and Cheyenne’s hands disapprovingly. Cheyenne’s hands tightened almost automatically around her package and she could just manage a weak smile.

“I thought you weren’t speaking to us?” Harry said before Cheyenne could even open her mouth, quirking an eyebrow quizzically. 

“Yes, don’t stop now,” Ron interjected, “it’s really doing us a world of good, you know.” 

Hermione huffed and marched away with her nose in the air; Cheyenne watched her go, feeling her good mood quickly evaporate. As much as she was looking forward to playing on the Quidditch team, she knew Hermione was only looking out for her and Harry’s wellbeing…she really had to find a way to make-up with her new friend and fast, before the silence between them drove her completely mad. 

Her mind was such a whirlwind of thought and conflicting emotions, Cheyenne found it rather difficult to concentrate on lessons that day. A part of her was excited for the moment when she would see her new broomstick for the first time and the Quidditch lessons she and Harry would be receiving that evening on the pitch, but there was another part of her that was more concerned with what she could say to Hermione. Would the other girl be willing to patch things up between them? Maybe…if Cheyenne talked to her one on one, without the boys interrupting or making rude comments that set Hermione off…Cheyenne finally decided the best time for that conversation would be that night when they were in the girls’ dormitory, after she and Harry had settled down from the excitement of their first training session with Oliver Wood. 

After a quick dinner, Cheyenne joined Harry and Ron upstairs in the Gryffindor common room to finally unwrap their new Nimbus Two Thousands. 

“Wow,” Ron sighed longingly as both brooms rolled onto the carpet in front of the fireplace. 

Harry and Cheyenne both smiled in equal amazement at the sight before them; even though neither of them knew a thing about the different kinds of brooms, they couldn’t deny their Nimbuses were beautiful. Each broom had a long, sleek mahogany handle polished to a shine and a tail made up of straight, neat twigs while _Nimbus Two Thousand_ was written in neat gold lettering at the end of each handle. 

At quarter to seven that evening, Harry and Cheyenne left the common room with their new broomsticks, chatting pleasantly about what they could expect that evening in terms of training. Since they were still so new to everything, it was more than likely this session would mainly involve Wood explaining the rules and what positions they would be playing on the team. 

A cool breeze swept in from the direction of the lake, bringing with it the sweet scent of crisp autumn leaves and fresh water as they stepped out of the castle and crossed the lawn toward the Quidditch pitch. Their shadows stretched across the grass ahead of them, fading slowly with the light of the setting sun as it sank behind the mountains, turning the sky a warm mix of orange and pink bordered by the ribbon of black velvet that was steadily growing on the eastern horizon. Cheyenne pulled her scarf tighter around her shoulders to keep the chill away as she and Harry walked into the Quidditch stadium for the first time. 

“Wow.” She breathed as they paused for a look around; hundreds of seats rose in stands around the entire pitch, high enough that the audience could see the action. At either side of the oblong field were three golden poles, each with a hoop on the end; they reminded Harry and Cheyenne greatly of the little plastic bubble wands Muggle children played with at home, although these poles each had to be fifty feet tall. 

“Doesn’t look like Wood’s here yet.” Cheyenne scanned the field for the older boy before turning back to her best friend, “Should we wait for him?”

“I’m itching to get back into the air.” Harry shifted his broomstick in his hands and swung a leg over the handle, gripping it eagerly. Cheyenne hesitated and glanced over her shoulder, unsure whether it would be a good idea or not, “You coming, Chey?”

“I dunno, Harry…”

“Ah, c’mon, Chey,” Harry kicked off hard from the ground and smirked down at her, “I know you’re just as eager to fly as I am. One lap ‘round the pitch, I’ll race ya. Unless you’re scared.” 

Cheyenne returned her attention to Harry and narrowed her eyes at the challenge, “Oh, baiting me now, are you?”

“Maybe.” Harry chuckled, “Bet I can beat you.” 

“Oh, you’re so on.” Cheyenne swung her leg over her own broom and kicked off from the ground; that familiar wave of exhilaration and freedom rushed through her again as she rose to meet Harry, who returned the smile that had subconsciously appeared on her lips before they took off along the pitch. There really was no feeling like this one, Cheyenne couldn’t help but think as she raced her best friend around the field, this is freedom, complete and utter freedom. She laughed aloud to herself as she weaved through the goalposts and goaded Harry into chasing her around the stands, like they were playing a game of tag in midair. Their Nimbus Two Thousands turned at their lightest touch, going wherever either of them needed.

“Oi, Potter, Power!” Cheyenne spun around one of the goalposts as Harry flew past her, his fingers just barely grazing the sleeve of her robes as she pulled her broomstick to a stop, spotting Oliver Wood watching the pair of them from the entrance to the pitch. He waved one hand toward them, the other tucked around a large wooden crate. “Come down here!” 

Harry came up alongside Cheyenne and the two flew over to land in front of Wood together. 

“Very nice.” Wood grinned, his eyes glinting happily as he looked from one to the other, “I can see what McGonagall meant, you both really are naturals. Potter, you’re definitely the faster of you two, which is good, you’ll need that speed; that isn’t to say you’re not fast, Power, but you’re better on defense and redirecting attention. And that will be perfect for your position.” He set the crate down beside him, “Let’s get started. I’ll just be teaching the two of you the rules this evening, but after that you’ll both be joining team practice three times a week.”

He opened the crate, revealing four balls of varying sizes, “Right, now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even though it isn’t always the easiest to play. There are seven to eight players on each team. Three of them are called Chasers.” 

“Three Chasers.” Harry and Cheyenne repeated, watching as Wood took the largest ball out of the crate; it was a bright red color and looked to be about the size of a football. 

“This ball here is called the Quaffle.” Wood tossed it to Cheyenne, who caught it in one hand and tested the weight, “Neither of you will really have to worry about that ball too much, it’s mostly a concern for the Chasers and one other player, who I’ll get to in a second. The Chasers throw the Quaffle to one another and try and get it through one of the three hoops at each end of the pitch to score a goal.” He pointed to the trio of hoops to their right, “Their team earns ten points for each time the Quaffle is put through one of those hoops. Follow me so far?”

“The Chasers mostly handle the Quaffle and have to put it through the hoops to score.” Cheyenne recited as she tossed the Quaffle to Harry so he could get a feel of it, too, while she cocked her head, “Sounds a bit like basketball, doesn’t it?” She looked at her best friend, who nodded his head in agreement. 

“What’s basketball?” Wood furrowed his brows, curious, but Harry shook his head to tell him to forget it as he tossed the Quaffle back. 

“Don’t worry too much about it, it’s just a Muggle sport.” Cheyenne told him quickly. Wood quirked a brow, but didn’t press the subject further as he returned the Quaffle to the crate, “Who’s that other player aside from the Chasers who can handle the Quaffle?”

“Right, well, the only other player required to handle the Quaffle in Quidditch is the Keeper – I’m the Keeper for Gryffindor. My job is to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring. “ 

“Three Chasers and one Keeper to each team,” Harry said with a firm nod, determined to remember that. “They handle the Quaffle. Okay, I think we’ve got it.” He looked at Cheyenne, who nodded her confirmation. “What’re those ones for?” He pointed to the three balls left inside the crate.

“I’ll show you both now.” Wood opened a hidden compartment in the base of the crate and produced two small clubs, which looked similar to rounders’ bats. “First, you both should take these.” 

“What’re these for?” Cheyenne frowned as she took one of the clubs. Wood grinned at her, “Trust me, Power, you’re going to want these when dealing with these buggers.” 

Wood turned back to the crate and crouched beside it, pointing to a pair of identical balls, which seemed to have been strapped down in place and, for what looked like, good reason; these two were slightly smaller than the Quaffle, jet-black in color, and looked to be straining against their straps to the point it was making the whole crate vibrate. “These here are called Bludgers. And I’d advise standing back for this demonstration.”

Harry and Cheyenne exchanged an apprehensive look and took a step back as Wood undid the straps holding down one of the Bludgers. As soon as it was free from its restraints, the black ball rose straight up into the air and pelted straight for Harry’s face. Harry reflexively swung at it with the bat, just stopping it from breaking his nose as it was sent zigzagging away; as it took aim at Cheyenne next, she leapt out of its’ path and Wood dove atop the little wrecking ball, somehow managing to pin it to the ground.

“See?” Wood panted once he’d successfully strapped the Bludger back inside the crate. “The Bludgers zoom around during the game and try to knock players off their brooms. Which is why we have two players on each team called Beaters. The Weasley twins are the Gryffindor Beaters – it’s their job to protect their team from the Bludgers and try to knock them toward their opponents. So – you two think you’ve got all that?” 

“Three Chasers try to score with the Quaffle,” Cheyenne put up one finger. 

“The Keeper guards the goalposts.” Harry continued, watching her put up another finger to keep track. 

“And the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team.” Cheyenne put up the last finger as Wood nodded.

“Very good.” He smiled.

“Er – have the Bludgers ever….” Harry exchanged a nervous look with Cheyenne before looking at Wood again, “Killed anyone?”

“Never at Hogwarts.” Wood scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully, “We have had a couple of broken jaws before, but nothing worse than that, really. Now, the last two members of the team are the Seeker, that’s you Potter, and, if the team can find one, the Helper, which will be your position, Power. Like I said, neither of you will have to worry much about the Quaffle or the Bludgers –“

“ – not unless they decide to crack our heads open…” Cheyenne frowned. Wood chuckled.

“Don’t you worry too much about that, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers – if I’m honest, they’re more like a pair of human Bludgers themselves.”

Harry and Cheyenne looked at one another again, feeling a bit better about that as Wood bent to retrieve the final ball. Unlike the Quaffle and Bludgers, this ball was tiny, probably only the size of a large walnut. The pair had to admit, though, it was really beautiful, with its bright gold body and little, fluttering silver wings. 

“ _This_ ,” Wood straightened, holding the ball tightly between his thumb and forefinger, “is the Golden Snitch, and it is the single most important ball of the lot. It’s difficult to catch because it’s so fast and hard to see. But that’s where the Seeker and his Helper come in.” He returned his attention to Harry and Cheyenne, “It’s mainly the Seeker’s job to catch the Snitch, but the Helper is there to help him find it, protect the Seeker from the other team and distract the other Seeker when the Snitch is spotted. Harry’s going to need that extra help, since he’s going to be weaving around the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get this before the other team’s Seeker. The reason this is so important is because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so their team almost always wins. It’s why Seekers and Helpers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch doesn’t end until the Snitch is caught, which means the game can go on for ages – I think the record for the longest game of Quidditch was three months…they actually had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get a break and get some sleep.” 

Wood paused thoughtfully as Cheyenne and Harry stared, amazed, before he seemed to realize he still had an audience, “Well, that’s about it – any questions?”

Harry and Cheyenne shook their heads, knowing what they were going to have to do. The difficult thing? This all seemed easier said than done, just as Wood had mentioned. 

“We won’t be practicing with the Snitch just yet.” Wood said as he carefully returned the Snitch to the crate. “It’s getting dark and we don’t want to lose it. So, let’s just try you both out with a few of these.” 

Wood produced a bag of ordinary golf balls from his pocket; within minutes, the trio were in the air, with Wood throwing the golf balls in every direction for Harry to catch, telling Cheyenne mostly to point out ones he didn’t see. 

With their teamwork, Harry didn’t miss a single ball, which thrilled Wood immensely. After half an hour, however, with night having fully fallen, they were not able to carry on. 

“That Quidditch Cup’s going to have our names on it for sure this year.” Wood said proudly as the trio made their way back to the castle, now a dark silhouette against the black, starry sky. “Hell, I wouldn’t even be surprised if Potter turned out better than Charlie Weasley. He could’ve played for England itself if he hadn’t’ve gone off chasing dragons.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

With the addition of Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of their classes and homework, the next two months passed by in a blur for Harry and Cheyenne. The pair had settled into the castle well, which wasn’t all too surprising, especially for Harry, who was beginning to see Hogwarts as more of a home than Privet Drive had ever been in his entire life. And now that they’d mastered the basics, their classes were becoming more and more interesting as well. 

The day of Halloween, the air was thick with the delicious scent of baking pumpkin and cooked turkey, a combination that made their mouths water with anticipation for the feast that evening. What made their day even better was when Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he believed their class was ready to start making objects fly, which they’d all been looking forward to since he’d made Neville’s toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick than proceeded to put the students into pairs to practise themselves. Harry was paired with Seamus Finnigan, much to his relief, while Cheyenne was to work with Neville. She didn’t mind this much, even though she knew he struggled with Charms, and was more than willing to help him however she could. As for Ron, he was less than thrilled when he was paired up with Hermione, although, judging by the identically irritated looks on both their faces, it was rather difficult to tell who was more bothered by this. Hermione still refused to speak to either Harry or Ron and had continued to do so since the day Harry and Cheyenne’s broomsticks had arrived. Cheyenne, meanwhile, had managed to catch Hermione in the dormitory the night after their first training session with Oliver Wood and the pair had talked things out. Hermione still didn’t quite agree with the trio’s reckless behavior, true, but Cheyenne was glad the two of them had been able to come to a mutual enough agreement to be on speaking terms again. 

“Now, be sure to remember that nice wrist movement we’ve been practising!” Professor Flitwick squeaked from atop his usual perch behind his desk. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And do be sure to say the magic words properly, that’s very important as well – never forget the tale of Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.” 

The spell was a difficult one to master; Cheyenne patiently corrected Neville on his wand movements, gently prompting him to speak a little more clearly as he struggled to make the feather they were supposed to be practising on fly. A yelp to their right made Neville flinch and Cheyenne glanced over in time to see that Seamus had set his and Harry’s feather ablaze before Harry put the fire out with his hat. On their left, Ron was not having much more luck than Harry or Seamus. 

_“Wingardium Leviosa!”_ he shouted, waving his long arms in a way that made him resemble a windmill. 

“Oh…I don’t think I can do this, Cheyenne…” Neville sighed in defeat as Hermione snapped at Ron to speak more clearly. Cheyenne smiled reassuringly.

“C’mon, Neville, it isn’t too difficult, just remember what I told you. And be sure to say the words right, yeah? Like this: Wing – _gar_ – dium Levi – _o_ – sa, you have to make the ‘gar’ nice and long.” 

“You do it, then, if you’re so clever,” Ron snarled at Hermione behind her, as Neville slumped his shoulders. Cheyenne rubbed his arm.

“Here, why don’t I do it first and then you can try again, all right? Just watch.” She picked up her wand and cleared her throat, flicking it at the feather as she spoke, _“Wingardium Leviosa!”_

Neville watched as the feather rose from the desk and proceeded to float four feet above their heads. 

“Oh, well done ladies!” Professor Flitwick cried jovially, clapping, “Everyone see here, Miss Granger and Miss Power have done it!”

Cheyenne glanced to her left and caught Hermione’s eye as the girls exchanged a proud smile. Ron scowled and slumped moodily over a couple of books lying on the desk in front of him. 

“That girl’s an absolute nightmare, honestly,” Ron grumbled at the end of class as he, Harry, and Cheyenne pushed their way into the crowded corridor, his expression stormy and ears red with embarrassment. “It’s no wonder no one can stand her, look at what she’s done to you Chey, she’s turning you into a know-it-all, too.” 

Cheyenne’s stomach boiled as she gave Ron a sharp look and opened her mouth to defend Hermione when someone pushed past Harry, knocking him off balance so he stumbled into her. The young woman turned, spotting a familiar curtain of curly brown hair before it disappeared amongst the crowd. 

“Hermione…?” 

“I think she heard you…” Harry frowned, having caught a glimpse of the barely concealed tears in Hermione’s eye. 

“So,” Ron glanced away uncomfortably, “She has to have noticed she hasn’t got any friends.”

Cheyenne whipped back around to face Ron, her eyes hardening into a glare, “ _I’m_ her friend!”

Ron rubbed his neck awkwardly and Cheyenne huffed as she pushed on ahead to their next class, hoping she’d be able to catch up to Hermione before their lesson began. Unfortunately, however, Hermione did not turn up for that class, nor did she appear for the remainder of the afternoon; this worried Cheyenne, knowing how studious her new friend could be. She never missed class…what Ron had said must have really gotten to her if it was keeping her from her studies like this. By the time Cheyenne and the boys dropped their bags off in their dormitories before the Halloween feast, still without a clue as to Hermione’s whereabouts, Cheyenne’s worry for the other girl was so great she was honestly considering blowing off the feast to go look for her. A conversation she overheard between Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown in their dormitory was what finally decided it for her. 

“Hermione’s holed herself up in the girls’ toilets on the first floor,” Cheyenne told Harry and Ron as soon as she rejoined them in the common room, fixing Ron with another glare, “I overheard Parvati and Lavender talking about her. She’s locked herself in one of the stalls and refuses to come out.” 

“Well, what do you expect us to do about it?” Ron rubbed his neck awkwardly again, unable to meet Cheyenne eye. 

“We need to go make sure she’s okay, Ron! We can’t just leave her down there all by herself, how would you feel if you were in her position?” She looked between the two boys, casting Harry a somewhat hopeful look, but he couldn’t quite meet her eye either. She pursed her lips tightly and shook her head in disappointment, “Fine, if neither of you are coming, I’m going by myself.” She shoved past them and started toward the portrait hole when Harry finally grabbed her wrist to stop her.

“Chey, maybe we should just leave her be, what if she wants to be left alone –?”

“So, she can remain all alone here?” Cheyenne turned back to her best friend with a scowl, jerking her arm out of his grip, “Harry Potter, I am appalled by your behavior, you should know better than anyone else how Hermione feels! Just because she’s clever like she is doesn’t mean she’s not any newer to magic or this school than you or I. She’s more than the know-it-all the two of you think she is.” She glared at both boys, “And by the way, just because she’s smart, it doesn’t make her a know-it-all, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to learn.” 

With that, Cheyenne turned on her heel and marched out of the common room, ignoring Harry calling after her as she went. If the boys wanted to pretend nothing was wrong, they could go right ahead, but no way was Cheyenne turning a blind eye to any of this. Both she and Harry had been in a situation similar to Hermione for far too long, there was no way she was going to pretend she didn’t understand how it felt to be alone and ostracized by her peers. While it was true Harry and Ron weren’t necessarily bullying Hermione, it didn’t excuse how they were currently treating her, either. Hermione was just as new to Hogwarts as any of the other first years, not to mention, like both Harry and Cheyenne, she’d had no clue the magical world had existed until the previous summer when she’d received her acceptance letter. Hermione wasn’t perfect either, she could be bossy and hardheaded when she wanted to be, but that didn’t mean she deserved to feel like she didn’t belong. Cheyenne was determined to make sure Hermione knew she wasn’t alone, that she did have a friend despite what Ron had said. 

Taking a couple of hidden corridors and staircases to avoid running into one of the other students, Cheyenne turned right on the first floor, heading away from the Great Hall and toward the girls’ bathroom. 

“Hermione?” Cheyenne quietly pushed the door open to peer inside and paused to listen; quiet sobs echoed in the chamber, twisting at her heart. “Hermione…it’s Chey…”

“Go away…” Hermione called weakly from the stall farthest from the door; Cheyenne frowned, grateful the two were alone and it was quiet, least she missed the other girl’s words, spoken as softly as they had been. Letting herself into the chamber, she pushed the door absent-mindedly behind her, too focused on wanting to make sure Hermione was okay to notice the door hadn’t latched. 

“I’m not going away, Hermione and I’m not leaving until you come out.” Cheyenne leaned back into the sink in front of Hermione’s stall and crossed her arms. “Friends are there for each other when they’re upset.”

“Shouldn’t let Ron hear you say that…I’m turning you into a know-it-all, too…” 

“Oh, bullocks what Ron thinks or says, Hermione, I don’t need him to tell me who I can or can’t hang out with, that’s my choice, not his.” Cheyenne huffed, shaking her head, “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with being smart. It doesn’t make you a know-it-all, it just means you’re willing to learn and open your mind to new experiences. I’m not ashamed of that part of myself and you shouldn’t be either.” 

“…what if he’s right, though?” Hermione sniffled, “Being smart hasn’t exactly helped me make any friends.”

“I’m your friend, Hermione. And it’s because you’re smart that I want to be your friend. I admire your drive and willingness to study…I don’t think I’ve met anyone as studious as you before I came to Hogwarts, not even at any of the Muggle schools Harry and I attended and that’s saying something…Harry’s not dumb, he got decent marks in school, but he never really understood that drive to want to learn and explore. It’s nice having someone to talk to who understands that interest in learning.” 

There was a stretch of silence and Cheyenne could swear she heard Hermione blow her nose, “Harry doesn’t exactly seem to like me, either…and I’m sure he wouldn’t want us being friends.” 

Cheyenne sighed, “Harry’s been my best friend since we were little…and we only ever had each other to lean on until we got into Hogwarts. I’ll always care about Harry and he’ll always be my best friend, but not even he can control who I want to be friends with, just as I can’t and won’t control who he wants to be friends with. Besides, if he can have a friend in Ron, why can’t I have a friend in you?”

Another pause, broken by the sound of the lock sliding out of place. Cheyenne smiled and pushed off the sink as Hermione swung the door open, wiping her tears away. Reaching into her pocket, Cheyenne took out her handkerchief and offered it to her but she shook her head, smiling weakly. 

“No, but thank you, Chey…and thank you for coming to help me.” 

“That’s what friends are for.” Cheyenne smiled as she tucked her handkerchief back into her pocket, “So…you think you’d be up to going to the Halloween feast? If not, we can head back up to the common room.”

Hermione paused, thoughtful, for a moment before she took a deep breath, “Let’s go to the Halloween feast, it’d be a shame to miss out on all the delicious food after smelling it all day.” 

Cheyenne smiled in agreement as the pair turned toward the exit together, “Oh, I know, I’ve had a craving for pumpkin pastries since this morning and –“She trailed off as a sudden, foul stench flooded her nose, which crinkled reflexively. Her hand came up instinctively to cover her mouth and nose, eyes watering at the combined stench of old socks and dirty public toilets. 

“C-Chey…” Hermione choked out as the two of them froze in place, spotting the source of the smell. Their eyes trailed up from a couple of flat, horned feet, up a pair of short, tree trunk sized legs and a thick, lumpy body wrapped in dull, granite gray colored skin until they could see the small bald head perched on top like a large coconut. “I-it’s a troll!”

Cheyenne involuntarily put an arm out in front of Hermione, moving the two of them back as the troll stared down at them, blinking slowly and waggling its’ ears, as though it was trying to make up its’ mind about something. As Cheyenne opened her mouth to ask Hermione what she thought they should do, the sound of the bathroom door slamming made them jump, their hearts sinking like stones as the lock clicked into place, echoing eerily in the room. Oh no. 

Exchanging a wide-eyed look, Cheyenne and Hermione’s eyes flashed back to the troll as it gave a low, agitated grunt, its’ eyes dark as it started to raise its’ huge wooden club above its’ head with long, gangly arms. 

Time slowed to a crawl in that moment, like someone had hit slow motion as the club began to swing downward; with her heartbeat in her ears, Cheyenne felt her body move of its’ own accord as she whirled round to face Hermione again and shoved her, hard, until she stumbled backward into the stall she’d just been occupying. Cheyenne then launched herself sideways into the stall next to Hermione’s, narrowly dodging the blow from the troll’s club. Gritting her teeth against the pain in her back where she’d slammed it into the toilet bowl on the way down, Cheyenne stared at the spot where she’d just been standing as the troll retracted its’ club from the crater it’d made in the tiles. 

“Chey - ?!” Hermione started to call from the next stall when the sound of splintering wood tore through the air; Cheyenne’s gaze shot to the left, where the sound was coming from, noticing the stall wall shudder and bow as the noise drew closer.

“Duck!” Cheyenne yelled, throwing herself to the floor as the club tore through the stall; large chunks of wood rained down from above, covering her like a blanket as she covered her head with her arms to protect it. Hermione’s high, petrified scream rose from her right, the sound reverberating off the stone walls and echoing painfully in Cheyenne’s ears, even muffled as it was through the wood piled on top of them both. Cheyenne pushed herself up on her right elbow, shoving wood aside as she searched for Hermione in the remains of the stall next to her. A shadow fell across the two of them as Hermione reemerged from amid the debris and Cheyenne clawed her way out, doing her best not to look back into the troll’s face for fear of what she might see. 

“Hermione, move!” Her words faded into a scream as something clamped down around her ankle, dragging her backward. She twisted around, looking up into the troll’s beady black eyes. Digging her hands into the wood underneath her, Cheyenne struck out with her foot in an attempt to dislodge the troll’s hand from her ankle, “Let go of me, you big brute!” 

“Chey!” Cheyenne’s heart soared at the new voice and her head swiveled around to find the source as the troll paused, glancing around to where Harry and Ron stood by the door, wide-eyed and pale as ghosts. 

“Confuse it!” Harry said quickly to Ron as he seized a broken lock from the floor and threw it, hard, at the wall; metal hit stone with a loud _clank_ , echoing dizzyingly in the chamber. The troll jolted at the noise, its’ grip loosening on Cheyenne’s ankle, which she quickly slipped out of its’ palm, scrambling backward. The troll barely seemed to notice as it lumbered around, blinking slowly at Harry. It hesitated, as though it was considering the new target, before it shuffled toward him instead, lifting its’ club above its’ head once more. 

“Oi, pea-brain!” Ron yelled from the other side of the chamber as he threw a metal pipe at it as hard as he could. Cheyenne saw the pipe hit the troll in the shoulder before she was hauled to her feet by Hermione, who pulled her back against the wall with her. The pair watched as the troll turned at the shout, its’ attention now on Ron, giving Harry the chance to run around it.

“Chey.” Harry breathed as he pulled his best friend into his arms, hugging her tight to his chest. Cheyenne’s arms automatically came up to wrap around his waist, “Are you okay?” 

The pair pulled apart and she offered him a weak smile, “I’m fine, Harry. But we can worry about that later, right now, we really need to –“ Her voice fell away as the troll, driven berserk by the overstimulation of noise, gave a loud, enraged roar, and charged toward Ron, who was closest and had no way to escape. 

“Harry!” Cheyenne shouted as he broke away from her and charged after the troll himself; she, Hermione, and Ron could do little more than watch as he took a great, running leap right onto the troll’s back, where he somehow managed to fasten his arms around its’ neck. The troll gave a sudden howl of pain and twisted around violently, flailing its’ club in an attempt to protect itself. Cheyenne soon spotted the source of its’ pain when she caught a glimpse of its’ face. While securing his arms around the creature’s neck, Harry had inadvertently stuck his wand, which had been in his hand when he’d jumped, straight up the troll’s nose. If they didn’t do something soon, that troll was going to take a hold of Harry or deliver a terrible blow with that club of his.

As she tried to work out what she could possibly do, Hermione shrank back into the wall beside Cheyenne while Ron hurriedly pulled out his own wand. Looking as though he hadn’t the faintest idea about what he was about to do himself, he gave it a determined flick and said the first spell that he could think of: _“Wingardium Leviosa!”_

Without warning, the club suddenly flew from the troll’s hand, rose high into the air, turned over slowly and then dropped, with a rather sickening _crack_ , down upon its’ owner’s head. The troll swayed on its’ feet for a moment, looking dazed, and then fell forward, landing flat on its’ face, with a _thud_ that made the entire room tremble. 

Cheyenne dashed forward, gently grabbing Harry’s hand as he stumbled to his feet, shaky and out of breath. Ron remained standing where he was, his wand still raised as he stared at what he had just done while Hermione slowly extracted herself from the wall.

“I-is it…dead?”

“I don’t think so…” Harry mumbled, furrowing his brows as he slowly calmed down, “I think it’s just been knocked out.” 

Giving Cheyenne a reassuring smile, Harry bent to inspect the troll for a moment before he carefully pulled the wand from its’ nose. Cheyenne wrinkled her own nose at the thick, lumpy gray mucus that covered it. 

“Eww, troll boogers.” Harry groaned, wiping his wand on the troll’s trousers.

Doors slammed nearby and the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps made the four of them look up, suddenly realizing the racket they and the troll must have been making, which had no doubt been heard by those on this floor. Within moments, Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell had burst into the room to find the source of the commotion; when he saw the troll, Quirrell let out a faint whimper and felt his way along the wall to the nearest toilet, where he sat, clutching at his heart. 

Snape bent down to inspect the troll while Professor McGonagall eyed Harry, Ron, and Cheyenne furiously, her lips set into a thin white line and her glasses flashing in her fury. Cheyenne could feel her stomach clench anxiously, having never seen her look so angry before, her hand instinctively seeking Harry’s for comfort. 

“What on earth were the three of you thinking?” Professor McGonagall said, her voice low and tight with emotion. Harry and Cheyenne exchanged a silent look as Ron just stood where he’d been before, his wand still raised. “You’re lucky none of you were killed! Why aren’t you in your dormitories?”

Snape glanced at the two, narrowing his black eyes; Cheyenne met his gaze for the briefest of seconds before lowering her eyes to the floor, silently wishing Ron would put his wand away. 

“Please, Professor McGonagall, it wasn’t their fault.” A small voice said from behind them. Professor McGonagall turned her gaze on Hermione as she came up to stand beside Cheyenne, her head bowed, “They were looking for me.” 

Shock slackened the hard lines in Professor McGonagall’s face, “Miss Granger?”

Hermione still couldn’t bring herself to look up, although she tilted her head to the side, her gaze flicking to the wall, her feet shuffling guiltily, “I went looking for the troll, thinking I could deal with it on my own…I…I’d read all about them and thought it would be enough…”

Ron’s wand slipped from his fingers, clattering to the bathroom floor as Harry and Cheyenne looked at one another again, their eyebrows arching in surprise. Was Hermione actually _lying_ …to a _teacher_ no less?

“If they hadn’t found me in time, I’d be dead now…Cheyenne tried to get me out of danger while Harry stuck his wand up its’ nose to distract it and Ron knocked it out with its’ own club…none of them had time to fetch anyone else…It was about to finish me off when the three of them arrived.”

There was a beat of silence as this sunk in; Professor McGonagall looked slowly between the four of them, considering Hermione’s words as Harry, Ron, and Cheyenne all tried to look as though her story wasn’t new to them. 

“Well, in that case…” Professor McGonagall began slowly, her brow knitting as she finally focused her attention on Hermione, “Miss Granger, that was a truly foolish thing to do, thinking you could tackle a mountain troll all on your own. What in heaven’s name made you think you could possibly accomplish such a thing?”

Hermione folded her hands before her and stared at her feet. Harry gaped in stunned silence as Cheyenne looked between the two, still trying to process this entire thing herself. Hermione was the absolute last person to do anything that went against the rules and, yet, here she was, pretending she had, to get the three of them out of trouble. Were things between her and the boys finally settling down? 

“Miss Granger, I will be taking five points from Gryffindor for your reckless behavior.” Professor McGonagall told her, pursing her lips once more, “I am very disappointed in you. If you aren’t injured, you had best get yourself off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their common rooms.”

Hermione didn’t even look up as she shuffled out of the bathroom while Professor McGonagall turned to Harry, Ron, and Cheyenne.

“Well, I can certainly say you three were very lucky, not many first years can say they’ve taken on a full-grown mountain troll and lived to tell the tale. You each win Gryffindor house five points. Professor Dumbledore shall be informed of your bravery here tonight. You are dismissed.”

Harry gripped Cheyenne’s hand tight as the trio hurried out of the chamber, although none of them thought to speak until they were at least a couple floors up, well out of earshot of any of the teachers and, much to their relief, the scent of that troll. 

“We should have gotten more than fifteen points,” Ron huffed as they passed the fourth floor.

“Ten, you mean, after Professor McGonagall takes off the points she took from Hermione.” Cheyenne pointed out.

“Nice of her to get us out of trouble like that…” Ron admitted, rubbing his neck, “But, then again, we did save her and Chey.”

“They probably wouldn’t have needed saving if we hadn’t locked that thing in with them.” Harry pointed out, smiling sheepishly at Cheyenne as she stared at the two of them, wide-eyed.

“That was you two?!” She sighed as Harry nodded, “Ugh…I really shouldn’t be so surprised, not with how quickly you two showed up to help us.” She shoved Harry’s shoulder lightly as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, “You’re both still idiots, though.” 

“We concede to that.” Harry said as Ron gave the Fat Lady the password and the trio climbed through the portrait hole into the common room just beyond, which was packed with the entirety of Gryffindor house. 

Blissfully unaware of what had happened mere moments before, the other students chatted pleasantly among themselves as they enjoyed the food that had been sent up from the Great Hall. The only one who hadn’t joined in the festivities, though, was Hermione, who stood alone by the door, waiting for their return. An awkward pause stretched between the four of them as they all tried to figure out what to say next. Neither Ron nor Harry could quite meet Hermione’s eye, nor could she meet theirs’. Cheyenne finally sighed and shook her head, smiling quietly as she decided to break the silence herself.

“Thank you, Hermione, you really saved us back there.”

Hermione glanced up, some of the awkward tension dissipating as she smiled quietly and nodded; Harry and Ron murmured their thanks as well. 

“Thank you for saving me.” Hermione finally said, letting out a slow breath before she and the boys hurried off to get plates of food for themselves. Cheyenne watched the three go with an amused smile, her hands on her hips.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this could be the beginning of a very interesting friendship.” She chuckled to herself as she wandered after them. There were just some things you couldn’t share with a person without it changing everything, sometimes for the better. And Cheyenne could say with absolute confidence that knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll was definitely one of those things. 


	9. Quidditch

As they rolled into November, the temperature steadily dropped, turning the surrounding mountains an icy, dark gray and the surface of the lake a brilliant, chilled silver. Each morning brought with it a sheen of frost that blanketed the grounds outside. Hagrid could often be seen defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field from an upstairs window, bundled up snuggly in a long moleskin overcoat, thick gray gloves made of rabbit skin, and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had officially begun. Harry and Cheyenne’s first match would be this coming Saturday, something they’d been anxiously looking forward to over the last few weeks of training. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won this match, they’d move up into second place for the house championship.

Outside their house Quidditch team, hardly anyone had seen either Harry or Cheyenne play; it was Wood’s idea, since the duo were supposed to be the team’s secret weapons. Expectantly, though, the news that they were playing Seeker and Helper had leaked out somehow, which made the wait all the more difficult. For as many people that had told the pair of them they were going to be brilliant, there was an equal number of people that said they’d be running around underneath them holding a mattress, just in case.

On the bright side, having Hermione join their friend group had really become a blessing; with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do, she had become a big help when it came to their schoolwork. She’d even been kind enough to lend them her copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages,_ too, which turned out to be quite the interesting read.

From what they’d read so far, Harry and Cheyenne had learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul, all of which had occurred in a single match: the World Cup match of 1473; out of all the players on the team, Seekers were often the smallest and fastest, with Helpers coming in a close second, although they were both the ones who often received the most sever of injuries; not to mention that, while people rarely died playing Quidditch, it wasn’t uncommon for referees to vanish and then turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Since the night Harry, Ron, and Cheyenne had saved her from the mountain troll, Hermione had relaxed a bit when it came to breaking the rules and was even kinder for it as well. The day before Harry and Cheyenne’s first Quidditch match, the four of them were sitting outside in the courtyard during break, staving off the cold by huddling around a bright blue fire Hermione had conjured and contained in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, enjoying the warmth when Snape crossed the yard. Harry frowned, nudging Cheyenne and pointing out how he was limping while they drew closer to Ron and Hermione to block the fire from view since none of them were sure if it would be allowed. Something in their facial expressions must have caught Snape’s eye, however, as he limped toward them, scowling unpleasantly. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for an excuse to tell them off anyway.

“What’ve you got there, Potter?” He pointed at the book Harry held against his chest. Harry glanced down at it and exchanged a look with Cheyenne before showing their professor it was the book Hermione had lent them.

“Library books are not to be taken outside school walls.” Snape told them. “Give it to me now. Five points from Gryffindor.”

“That isn’t a rule…” Cheyenne frowned as Snape limped away, furrowing her brows.

“Likely he just made it up.” Harry growled under his breath, “Wonder what’s wrong with his leg?”

“Dunno, but I hope it’s really bothering him.” Ron grumbled bitterly.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was crowded and noisy in the Gryffindor common room that evening as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Cheyenne sat at a table by the window together. Hermione and Cheyenne were helping go over Harry and Ron’s Charms’ homework, making little corrections here and there when necessary. Even before Hermione had joined their group, Cheyenne had never let either of the boys copy, since neither would ever learn properly that way. By reading through their homework, though, they were able to get the right answers anyway.

Harry was restless and kept getting up to pace back and forth between his chair and the window; Cheyenne glanced up each time he walked past her, understanding his agitation. Snape hadn’t only confiscated an interesting book, he’d taken away what had been keeping Harry’s nerves in check. Tomorrow’s Quidditch match was nerve-wracking enough without the stress he piled on by unjustfully taking what wasn’t even theirs’ in the first place.

_(Maybe I could try to talk Snape into giving it back.)_ Cheyenne closed her Charms book and set it aside, _(Anything would be better than watching Harry pace around like a caged animal.)_

“I think I’m going to go look for Snape.” She said as she got to her feet; Harry stopped his pacing to look at her while Ron and Hermione looked up, “It can’t hurt to try and talk to him about giving _Quidditch Through the Ages_ back.”

“I’ll come with you.” Harry gave his best friend a grateful smile while Hermione exchanged a look with Ron.

“Better you than us,” They said together, watching as Cheyenne took Harry’s hand and led the way out of the common room, telling them they would be right back.

“Snape might be harsh when he’s alone, but it could be easier to convince him to return the book if there are other teachers listening.” Cheyenne pointed out as they descended the stairs, “So let’s start at the staff room.”

“Fingers crossed he’s in there.” Harry murmured as the duo approached the door; they paused just outside and knocked on the thick wooden door together. No one answered. Harry and Cheyenne exchanged a look before they raised their hands to knock again. Nothing.

“You think he could’ve left the book in there?” Harry whispered as he looked at Cheyenne again. She frowned quietly, unsure.

“What teacher would leave a confiscated book laying around…?”

“Worth a shot though, isn’t it?”

“Harry, I don’t think –“Cheyenne started to protest when Harry reached out to try the door; it swung slightly inward, just enough for Harry and Cheyenne to be able to peer into the room beyond, even as the sight before them made them instantly wish they hadn’t.

Snape and Filch were the only ones inside. Seated in one of the plush chairs against the far wall, Snape had his robes pulled back above his knees, revealing the bloody, mangled mess that was his leg. Filch grimaced as he handed Snape bandages.

“Blasted thing,” Snape huffed as he wrapped the wounded limb “How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?”

“We should leave.” Cheyenne whispered urgently, grasping Harry’s arm in her free hand, “Now.”

Harry started to nod his agreement when Snape’s head snapped up in their direction; fury overtook his face, his lips twisting into an ugly grimace and his eyes flashing menacingly as he quickly dropped his robes to hide his injures.

“POTTER! POWER!”

Cheyenne clutched at Harry’s arm as he nervously cleared his throat.

“I-I…just wondered if we could have our book back.”

“GET OUT! OUT!”

Neither Harry nor Cheyenne had to be told twice, beating it out of there before their professor had the chance to take any more points from Gryffindor. They sprinted the entire way back to the tower.

“Did you get it?” Ron asked as Harry and Cheyenne rejoined them. When they didn’t answer straight away, he looked up from his homework and took note of the perturbed expressions on their faces. “What’s the matter?”

In hushed tones, the pair told their friends what they had seen.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Harry finished, breathless, “It means he tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween! That’s where he was going when Ron and I saw him – “He indicated to the red-head and himself as Hermione and Cheyenne looked at one another, “Snape’s after whatever it’s guarding! And I’d bet my broomstick he was the one who let that troll in, to divert attention!”

Hermione shook her head slowly, trying to sort through her muddled thoughts, “No, he wouldn’t.” She frowned, looking between the two boys, “Look, I know he isn’t exactly nice, but he wouldn’t try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe.”

“Honestly, Hermione, you really think all teachers are saints or something,” Ron growled, “I’m with Harry on this one, I wouldn’t put anything past Snape.”

“I don’t know about that, I kinda have to agree with Hermione,” Cheyenne frowned herself, “There isn’t enough evidence to suggest Snape _was_ trying to steal what that dog’s guarding aside from what it did to his leg. If he was, why would he have talked so openly about it with Filch, another member of staff loyal to Dumbledore? Who’s to say he isn’t helping protect whatever it is the dog is guarding?”

Ron gave Cheyenne an incredulous look, as though he couldn’t believe she and Hermione were actually defending Snape while Harry lapsed into a thoughtful silence. He would spend the rest of their evening mulling over everything that had happened and carrying these thoughts up to bed when the four of finally decided to retire for the night. Cheyenne, herself, would spend a majority of that night mulling everything over, too, all the possibilities of what could have happened and why until she fell into an uneasy sleep just shortly after midnight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning was cloudless and bright, the winter sun riding low along the horizon. The delicious scent of friend sausages whaffed out from the Great Hall, beckoning students and staff inside with the promise of a warm, filling breakfast while students chattered cheerfully amongst themselves about the Quidditch match.

“You two have got to eat something…” Hermione said with a frown as she watched Cheyenne pick at her eggs and bacon; Harry could only look on blankly.

“We’re not really hungry, Hermione…” Cheyenne murmured, her head in her hand; her stomach felt so knotted up she was afraid anything she tried to eat would only come back up.

“Just a bit of toast wouldn’t be that bad…” Hermione wheedled. Harry sighed.

“Really, we’re not hungry…” He glanced down at the table, feeling just as anxious and nervous as Cheyenne. Even just the thought of food was making him nauseous. How could they possibly be expected to eat now anyway, when they were just an hour away from walking out onto the Quidditch field?

“Harry, Cheyenne, you’ll both need your strength,” Seamus Finnigan piped up, as he grabbed the ketchup, “Seekers and Helpers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team.”

“Thanks, Seamus…” Harry frowned as Cheyenne finally dropped her fork onto her plate and shoved it away from her, feeling like she couldn’t look at her food anymore.

The whole school seemed to be packed into the stands around the Quidditch pitch by the time eleven o’clock came around. Many had binoculars for a better look at the action. Even with the stands raised as high as they were, it wasn’t always easy to see what was going on.

Ron and Hermione were joined by Neville, Seamus, and Dean up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry and Cheyenne, they’d used the sheets Scabbers had ruined to make up a large banner, which read _Powter for President!_ Over a large Gryffindor lion that Dean had drawn himself. As an added feature, Hermione had charmed the paint to flash a variety of different colors.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and Cheyenne were changing into their new scarlet Quidditch robes with the rest of their team. Slytherin would be playing in green.

Once everyone was changed and geared up, Wood cleared his throat. Everyone fell silent.

“Okay, men,” he began.

“And women,” Chaser Angelina Johnson added.

“And women,” Wood agreed with a smile, “This is it.”

“The big one,” Fred Weasley said dramatically.

“The one we’ve all been waiting for,” George continued.

“We know Oliver’s speech by heart now,” Fred leaned over to stage whisper to Cheyenne. “We were on the team last year.”

“Shut up, you two,” Wood scowled. “This is the best team Gryffindor has had in years. We’re going to win, I just know it.”

He glared around at the rest of the team with a look that said all too clearly, “Or else.”

“Right, it’s time. Good luck, everyone.”

Harry and Cheyenne each took a deep breath as they picked up their broomsticks and followed Fred and George out of the locker room. Doing their best to ignore the way their legs turned to jelly, the duo squinted in the bright sunlight as they walked out onto the field. The stands exploded into cheers around them.

Madam Hooch, who would be refereeing, was waiting for the two teams in the middle of the field, her broom in one hand.

“Now, I want a nice clean game. From all of you,” She said once they’d all gathered around her. While it appeared she was speaking to all of them, Harry and Cheyenne couldn’t help but notice she was looking directly at the Slytherin team Captain, Marcus Flint, who was a sixth year. Flint was rather broad and…dim-looking and Cheyenne was almost ashamed to wonder if he had any troll blood in his linage. A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, pulling her away from her thoughts as she looked to her left and smiled when she caught the banner fluttering high in the stands, flashing _Powter for President!_ over the crowd. Harry caught her eye then and the two exchanged invigorated smiles.

“Mount your brooms, please.”

Nodding together, Harry and Cheyenne swung their legs over their Nimbus Two Thousands.

Madam Hooch gave a single, loud blast on her silver whistle.

Sixteen brooms kicked up from the ground to rise high into the air. They were off.

“And Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor takes immediate possession of the Quaffle – what a daring move by such an excellent and attractive Chaser –“

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

Commentary for the game was being covered by the Weasley twins’ friend, Lee Jordan, who was being closely watched by Professor McGonagall. Cheyenne had to hide an amused smile at his antics as she helped Harry search for the Snitch.

“And there she goes, she’s really belting along up there, with a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, excellent find by Oliver Wood when last year she was only a reserve – now back to Johnson and – oh, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, now in possession of Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint, and he’s off – Flint’s flying like an eagle up there – he’s going to sc – nope, stopped at the last second by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood – Gryffindor in possession – passes it to Chaser Katie Bell after a nice dive around Flint – she’s off up the field and – ooooh, OUCH – that must have hurt, taking a Bludger to the back of the head like that – Slytherins take the Quaffle – Adrian Pucey speeds off toward the goal posts, but he’s blocked by the second Bludger – curtesy of Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which – either way, nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, and Johnson’s got the Quaffle again, with a clear field ahead and off she goes – wow, she’s really flying – she dodges a speeding Bludger – the goal posts are within reach – c’mon now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives and – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!”

An uproar of cheers fill the air as students stomp their feet and the Slytherins let out a chorus of howls and moans of displeasure.

“Budge up there, move along.”

“Hagrid!”

Ron and Hermione had to squeeze together to give Hagrid enough room to join them.

“Bin watchin’ the match from me hut,” Hagrid said as he sat down, patting the large pair of binoculars hanging from his neck, “Wasn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd, though. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”

“Nope,” Ron shook his head, “Harry hasn’t had much to do yet.”

“Looks like Chey’s been keeping the Slytherin Seeker busy, though to give Harry room to look,” Hermione nodded to where Cheyenne was flinting around the field, as though she was chasing something, while the Slytherin Seeker hovered nearby, just close enough to watch.

“She certainly knows how to redirect attention,” Hagrid chuckled as he raised his binoculars, searching out which of the other players was Harry. “Keeps Harry outta trouble, though, so that’s somethin’.”

Cheyenne pulled her broom to a stop near the Gyrffindor goal posts to look around the field, doing her best not to look up at where Harry was flying high above the game. She could still feel the Slytherin Seeker hovering nearby, watching her every move for any sign of the Snitch. At least he was falling into Wood’s trap.

Wood had wanted Harry to keep out of the way of the game until he caught sight of the Snitch while Cheyenne kept the Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs’, attention. Helpers weren’t the ones who caught the Snitch, but they were there to help their Seeker find it and were often the ones to point them in the right direction. Higgs probably thought if she saw it first, he would be able to catch the Snitch before she could report back to Harry.

Cheyenne had stayed off to the side while the Chasers’ did their thing, only starting to move after Angelina had scored. If she’d started feigning straight away, Higgs would’ve figured out the ruse and went following Harry around instead. Cheyenne had to be careful when keeping Higgs attention; if she did too little or too much, he would know something was amiss. So long as she kept him away from Harry so he could find the Snitch.

“Doing okay, Cheyenne?” Wood called as he circled the goal posts. Cheyenne nodded.

“Yeah, but I’d be watching out for Pucey, Wood.” She called back as the Slytherin Chaser dodged around Katie, gathering speed now as he approached the goal posts.

“Wait a moment –“ Lee Jordan leapt up from his seat, excited, “Was that the Snitch?”

A murmur rippled through the crowd as Cheyenne’s heart leapt into her throat, her gaze snapping toward Adrian Pucey. He pulled his broom to an abrupt halt as he looked over his shoulder to catch the flash of gold that had whizzed past his left ear, dropping the Quaffle in the process.

Something black and green streaked past Cheyenne before she could react, her breath catching as she watched Higgs take off after the Snitch. Harry nosedived, catching up with the Slytherin Seeker and the little golden ball within seconds. They were neck and neck – the whole game had come to a standstill to watch. The two Seekers were too close for Cheyenne to offer any kind of assistance, so there was little she could do but watch from afar with the rest of the school.

“C’mon, Harry…you can do it.” She whispered under her breath, her hands tightening on the handle of her broom as she watched Harry race Higgs around the outer perimeter of the field. Harry was gaining speed now, pulling ahead little by little; Cheyenne’s heart beat against her vocal cords as Harry leaned in close to his broomstick, putting on an extra burst of speed – he thrust out his right hand –

It all happened in a flash – suddenly Marcus Flint was there, blocking Harry’s path. Harry’s broom was spun off course, leaving Harry with little to do aside from hang on for his life.

An outcry of foul rose from the Gyrffindor side of the stands as Cheyenne streaked over to help her best friend, circling around him until he could regain control of his broom and she could check to make sure he was unharmed. Madam Hooch told Flint off for what he’d done and awarded the Gryffindor team a free shot at the goal posts. Unfortunately, in the midst of the confusion, the Golden Snitch had disappeared once more.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling for Flint to get a red card.

“What are you talking about, Dean?” Ron furrowed his brows at him, confused.

“Red card!” Dean said, furious, “In soccor, a player who receives a red card is taken out of the game.”

“But this isn’t soccor, Dean,” Ron pointed out.

Hagrid, however, was wholeheartedly on Dean’s side.

“They oughta change the rules.” Hagrid growled, “Flint coulda knocked Harry right outta the air.”

Lee Jordan, meanwhile, was finding it very difficult not to take sides over the whole ordeal.

“So – after that obvious and disgusting move –“

“Jordan!” Professor McGonagall growled.

“I mean, after that open and revolting cheat –“

“Jordan, I’m warning you –“

“All right, all right. After Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I’m sure, a penalty is rewarded to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue playing. Gryffindor is in possession again.”

“I’m fine, Chey, really.” Harry told Cheyenne as one of the Bludgers spun dangerously past them, just missing Harry’s head. Cheyenne frowned, but relented, looking back down on the game from where Harry had been watching earlier. She could see Higgs hovering not too far below, watching them like a hawk for any sign that they saw the Snitch again. The game continued as though nothing had happened.

“Looks like everything’s back to normal, but Higgs will be watching a lot closer than he was before…” She rubbed her chin, “Should we just go back to what we were doing before the Snitch was spotted?” She paused to think about it, wondering if Higgs would stick close to Harry now since he knew following Cheyenne would only be a diversion. If that did happen, they were going to need to come up with another strategy. But what could they possibly do now, they hadn’t come up with any back-up plans for something like this.

“Harry?” Cheyenne asked without taking her eyes off the game, watching as Slytherin took the Quaffle; Flint was in possession, darting around Alicia and Katie. When he didn’t answer, Cheyenne finally lifted her head, “Har –“

The only thing Cheyenne saw as she turned was a blur of scarlet and black as Harry barreled toward her, so fast she didn’t even have enough time to react before she felt him slam into her; she gasped as she was pitched sideways off her broom, body summersaulting in the air, briefly turning the world topsy turvey before righting itself back to what it should be. Her brain was quick to realize what had happened and her arm automatically shot out to grab desperately at something, anything, that could save her from freefalling toward the ground. Her fingers closed around the smooth handle of her broom and she clutched at it for dear life, staring down at the green field below with wide eyes.

“Cheyenne!” The horrified voice made the young woman look up, her gaze meeting her best friend’s equally wide green eyes, “Chey, are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I-I’m fine.” Cheyenne blinked, still momentarily disorientated. “What hap –“

Before she could finish what she was saying, her broom gave a sudden violent jerk that threatened to throw her off completely. Her eyes left Harry’s apologetic gaze and dropped to her broom, her grip tightening instinctively to hold on; when Harry had collided with her, her broom had rolled to the left until the stirrups underneath, now tangled with the ones on Harry’s broom, were pointing up. As she watched, Harry’s broom jerked and zigzagged violently through the air, pulling her and her broom along with it.

“What’s happening?” She asked as she tried to grab at her broom with her free hand while it continued to jerk around with his.

“I-I don’t know! It just started jerking like some kind of bull at the rodeo!” Harry said helplessly, tightening his hands and knees around his broomstick, wishing more than anything he could do something to help her. If he didn’t do something to control his broom, she was going to get hurt or worse.

The sounds of the Slytherins cheers floated up from the stands below. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry’s broom was acting strange as it slowly carried him and Cheyenne higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching the entire way.

“What are Harry and Cheyenne doing?” Hagrid mumbled, watching the duo through his binoculars. “Looks like they’re stuck together…if I didn’t know better, I’d say onea ‘em have lost control of their broom…but they couldn’t have.”

A sudden scream from overhead brought the game to a screeching halt; people all over the stands shot up out of their seats, pointing skyward. Harry’s broom had started to roll now, whipping Cheyenne round like a ragdoll while Harry clung on for dear life. Then, with a great jerk, Harry was bucked clean off; he grabbed his broom handle with one hand, the momentum swinging him in a downward arch to smack face-first into Cheyenne. His glasses cracked on impact, the pain of bone hitting bone enough to loosen Cheyenne’s grip; a gasp rose from the crowd as her fingers slipped from her broom -

“CHEY!” Harry caught her wrist in his hand; another gasp tore from her throat as her fingers closed back around his wrist, teary eyes meeting his again. As Harry stared down into her terrified face, he saw blood pool under her nose and trickle down her chin, dripping onto her Quidditch robes.

“Did something happen to Harry’s broom when Flint blocked him?” Seamus whispered, wide-eyed.

“Can’t have,” Hagrid said, his voice shaking. “Nuthin’ can interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic – no way a kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.”

Something about this resonated deeply with Hermione, who immediately seized Hagrid’s binoculars and frantically searched the crowd.

“What are you doing?” Ron moaned, ashen-faced.

“I knew it,” Hermione gasped, holding the binoculars out to Ron, “Snape, look over there!”

Ron grabbed the binoculars from her and immediately spotted their Potions’ master, who was seated in the stands directly across from them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and Cheyenne and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

“What should we do?”

“Leave that to me.”

Hermione had disappeared before Ron got the chance to answer. He frowned and lifted the binoculars back to where Harry and Cheyenne dangled in midair. Harry’s broom had started to vibrate, hard, at this point, making it almost impossible for either of them to be able to hang on. The whole crowd was on its’ feet now, watching with bated breath as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull the two of them safely onto their brooms, but they couldn’t get within five feet of them as Harry’s broom just continued to jump higher still. The twins finally dropped lower and circled just beneath them, obviously hoping to catch them if they fell. Marcus Flint, meanwhile, had seized the Quaffle and scored five times without a single person realizing.

“H-Harry, I don’t know how much longer I can…hold on!” Cheyenne gasped, feeling the broom vibrating all the way to Harry’s fingertips, which, combined with the sweat she could fell on her forehead and palm, was making it difficult for them to keep a grip on one another.

“Please…please Chey, you have to…hold on…” Harry looked desperately into his best friend’s eyes, begging her to hold on just a little longer, even as her hand began to slip from his. He tightened his fingers around hers’, feeling his heart sink into his stomach as he felt her slipping away.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron muttered desperately under his breath.

Hermione, meanwhile, fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood and raced along the row behind him. So focused on her target, she didn’t even seem to notice when she accidentally knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front of him. When she reached Snape, she checked to make sure no one was watching and pulled out her wand as she crouched behind him. Whispering a few well-chosen words under her breath, she pointed her wand at the hem of Snape’s robes, which were instantly engulfed in bright blue flame.

The sudden, terrified yelp the flames drew from the man’s mouth was drowned out by a combination of the scream that came from above and the horrified gasp of the crowd. Hermione hurriedly scooped the fire off Snape and into a little jar in her pocket before she shot to her feet, helpless to watch with the rest of the crowd as Cheyenne free fell. She’d been able to stop Snape jinxing the broom, just seconds too late. Harry was able to clamber back onto his broom. Just below, Fred broke from George and rose to catch Cheyenne midair. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as she landed in his outstretched arms.

“Neville, you can look!” Ron said, suddenly breathless from all the excitement, pulling Neville from where he’d been sobbing into Hagrid’s jacket for the last five minutes.

“You all right there, Cheyenne?” Fred smiled down at the young woman as he steadied his broom, holding her close to his chest. It took a moment before she could relax enough to lift her head, let alone open her eyes to check her surroundings, as though to be sure she was really still alive. And another minute before she could bring herself to meet his gaze. He watched in amusement as her cheeks flushed a cute pink, which pulled a soft chuckle from his throat as he felt his earlier anxiety melting away.

“I-I’m fine, I – um,” Her gaze flickered away from his shyly as she tried to gather her thoughts. “th-thank you…for s-s-saving me.”

“Heh, it’s no problem, Chey.” Fred rubbed her back and cocked his head, “You sure you’re okay?”

Cheyenne nodded, still unable to meet his gaze, “Y-yeah, I’m okay, I just –“ Realization dawned on her face and she sat upright, her eyes shooting up to where she had been dangling not minutes before before she searched the field frantically, “Where’s Harry?!”

Fred looked around for him, too, and the two spotted their Seeker as he hit the ground just below, one hand clapped to his mouth as though he was about to be sick. Cheyenne began to tug at Fred’s sleeve to tell him to take her down there when Harry gave a great, shuddering cough, expelling something small and gold into his palm.

“Is that the…?” Fred started to ask, squinting his eyes.

“It is, it’s the Snitch!” Cheyenne’s face split into a beaming smile as Harry rose to his feet, thrusting the fist holding the Snitch high in the air for the entire school to see. “HARRY HAS THE SNITCH!” Cheyenne shrieked, throwing her arms around Fred in a celebratory hug as Madam Hooch, although now thoroughly confused by this turn of events, ended the game, announcing Gryffindor as the winners.

“He almost swallowed it, that doesn’t count!” Flint continued to howl twenty minutes after the game had been called, scowling angrily as Fred brought Cheyenne down to hug her best friend. His words meant nothing, though – Harry hadn’t broken any rules with how he caught the Snitch and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the end results – Gryffindor had won, leading by a hundred and seventy points to sixty. Neither Harry nor Cheyenne heard any of this, though, too concerned with making sure the other was okay to really pay anything else much attention while Hagrid ushered them, Ron, and Hermione to his hut for a strong cup of tea after what they’d been through.

“It was Snape,” Ron explained as Harry gently wiped the blood from under Cheyenne’s nose, which was, thankfully, not broken, and she fixed his glasses. “Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing Harry’s broomstick, muttering. He wouldn’t take his eyes off either of you.”

“Rubbish,” Hagrid disagreed, obviously having not heard a word of their earlier conversation, “Why would Snape do somethin’ like that?”

Harry and Cheyenne exchanged a look before looking at Ron and Hermione, who were frowning, each of them wondering briefly what they should tell Hagrid. The look Harry and Cheyenne shared said it would be best to just tell him the truth.

“We found out something about him, Chey and I.” He told Hagrid, “He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween…we know because it bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it’s guarding.”

Hagrid’s teapot shattered on the stone floor.

“How do you know about Fluffy?” He asked, incredulous.

“Fluffy?” Harry looked at Cheyenne with raised eyebrows as she shrugged, confused.

“Yeah – he’s my dog – I bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las’ year – Dumbledore asked to borrow him to guard the –“

“Yes?” Cheyenne leaned forward eagerly. Hagrid immediately clammed up.

“Nonea ya ask me anymore,” Hagrid gruffed, “That’s top secret, it is.”

“But Hagrid, Snape’s trying to steal it.”

“Rubbish.” Hagrid shook his head in disbelief, “Snape is a Hogwarts teacher, he would do nothin’ of the sort.”

“Then why did he just try to kill Harry and Cheyenne?” Hermione asked him furiously.

“She’s right, Hagrid, what happened to Harry’s broom was an obvious jinx if ever there was one. She and I have read all about them and if what she and Ron said is true, then it was definitely Snape.” Cheyenne agreed, nodding solemnly.

The afternoon’s events had obviously seemed to change both Hermione and Cheyenne’s minds about Snape.

“It was! You have to keep eye contact and Snape wasn’t blinking. I saw him!” Hermione cried.

“I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong!’ Hagrid argued hotly. “I dunno why Harry’s broom acted like that today, but Snape wouldn’ try an’ kill one student, let alone two! Now, you four listen to me – yer all meddlin’ in things that don’ conern anya yeh. It’s dangerous.” He gave the four preteens a hard look, “You jus’ forget about that dog an’ what it might be guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicolas Flamel –“

“Aha!” Harry cried triumphantly, “so there’s someone named Nicolas Flamel involved in this, is there?”

Hagrid’s face turned red in fury at himself for unintentionally revealing something obviously meant to be kept secret.


End file.
